


It's A Terrible Life

by trenchcoatandimpala



Series: Life [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Sex, Angst, Bisexual Castiel, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Body Horror, Bottom Castiel, Castiel Whump, Demisexual Lucifer, Demisexuality, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Forced Orgasm, Forced Prostitution, Heavy Angst, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Kid Fic, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitute Castiel, Prostitute Dean, Prostitution, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Abuse, Slow Build, Thriller, Underage Sex, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:11:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 29
Words: 140,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3895837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trenchcoatandimpala/pseuds/trenchcoatandimpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer is a man with a mysterious past and a mission. He's the supervisor of a group home but he's also a pimp and Castiel is his personal whore. Castiel thought he may never find love again, not when he's bartered around and used as party favors. But maybe happiness is not lost when a certain green eyed boy and his six-year-old brother join the home. Unfortunately, fate has other plans. After a brutal assault and the massacre that follows, would they be able to salvage the broken pieces or are they too broken to try?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I have published "It's A Terrible Life" on Tapas app (https://tapas.io/series/Its-A-Terrible-Life). I've made a few changed and edit the whole thing basically haha. I won't take it off AO3 because at the end of the day, I write because I love the fandom and want to contribute ^^ But if you do enjoy the fic, please do subscribe to me on Tapas. It's free and it will allow me to earn a little! I will deeply appreciate your efforts! Again I want to thank you all for your support because, without your kudos and comments, I would never have made it this far!

"It's noon, Cassie."

At the sound of the voice, Castiel lets out a muffled groan and shifts from his sleeping position in bed. In his sleep muddled state, he starts to register how sore his body is. The muscles on his arms and thighs throb unpleasantly. He turns his head to the side and blinks against the sunlight streaming in through the window above his bed. 

Squinting, he blinks the sleep out of his eyes. Memories from the day before seep into his awareness, trickling into his consciousness. Shame and humiliation follow next in quick succession. He wants to blot out the reminders of last night, but it seems like his body has different ideas, throbbing and aching in places he never knew a person could ache. The bed dips as someone sits beside him.

Long fingers grip the band of his loose white boxer and peels it down the globe of his ass. He stills as the fingers spread his asscheeks apart. There's an approving hum before the fingers are removed and his boxers snap back into place. Very much awake now, he turns around to piercing blue eyes. Light blonde hair shines like a halo around his handsome face in the bright sunlight. Lucifer. True to his name, he is as beautiful as the angel with a heart as cold as ice. He is also the man Castiel has fallen in love with. And the person to break his heart time and time again.

"You look less swollen now. In a few hours, you'll be as good as new," he says indicating the soothing gel he had applied on Castiel last night. Castiel had been too out of it to do anything other than to lie in bed, hurting and spent while Lucifer praised and fussed over him. Lucifer brushes the side of his face with the back of his fingers. Castiel leans into the touch. During moments like this, he can pretend that everything is fine, and that's he's in a normal relationship with his boyfriend. 

"Now, go and take a shower. You have a long night ahead of you," Lucifer says as he slaps his thigh and stands.

Just like that the warm bubble he's wrapped himself in bursts, and Castiel is thrown back into reality. He feels cold despite still lying in bed in a tangle of sheets. The side of his thigh that had been pressed against Lucifer's aches at the loss of contact as the man moves away. Castiel forces himself to stay still, ignoring the urge to reach out as Lucifer walks back out the room, leaving the door ajar. Sighing, he slumps back into bed and stares at the now familiar patch of plaster above his bed.

He misses Lucifer. Misses the man he first met and fell in love with when he arrived at the home three months ago. The man who showered him with attention and gave him solid ground when he was lost. The man who promised affection and companionship. Who had charmed his way into his life and captured his heart. Back then, Lucifer was sweet and kind. He would pepper him with kisses and gentle touches. Tell him how beautiful his eyes are as he takes Castiel apart.

Castiel had known he's bisexual when he was thirteen and found himself appreciating the male and female form. The way his eyes would linger for a moment too long at the way a jeans would hang low on a set of lean hips. Or the way a t-shirt is stretched too tight across a broad chest or full bosoms. Life would be much easier if he focuses his attraction to girls, but when he was fifteen, he was crushing hard on his science project partner. A sweet boy by the name of Samandriel. 

Castiel never told anyone about his crush, not even his father, Charles Novak or his older brother, Ion. Judging by their names alone, it’s safe to say that their father was a religious man.

A knock on the door pulls him out of his reverie. He looks up to see Dean, all six feet of him, standing awkwardly by his door. He catches Dean's emerald green eyes roam down his torso. When they stop at his boxers, his face turns pink before his eyes fly back up to Castiel's face. He clears his throat, looking flustered. Castiel hides a smile. 

He had only known Dean for three weeks when he moved into the home with his six years old younger brother, Sam. They are the same age, and they shared a few classes together though he can't remember noticing Dean before. Castiel lacks the social skill that allows him to blend in easily. He is pretty much a loner at school. At home, the others make an effort to avoid him. He had thought Dean would want the same, so he kept his distance. He tilts his head now, curious as to why Dean is standing in his doorway, looking three shades of embarrassed.

"Hey, Cas." 

His voice is young and boyish like it has not yet fully matured. A perfect contrast to his own low baritone that sounds years beyond his age. Dean is also the only one to call him Cas. He wonders why no one thought of that before. It seems so natural. Simple. And he likes the sound of it. He gives Dean a small smile.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean coughs a little, the tip of his ear turning a light shade of red. "Um... I don't know if Lucifer told you this already, but I will be coming along with you tonight."

"Oh?" Castiel is surprised. This is news to him. He always went alone to Azazel's party alone. His heart clenches a little at the thought that Dean is participating as well. Because there isn't a doubt in his mind what Dean's purpose at the club is. Like him, they're the entertainment. Castiel is used to it but Dean- It's a fate he wishes never to befall anyone else. "I'm so sorry, Dean."

He shrugs. "First time for everything I guess. Hey, at least you'll be there. You're going to look out for me, Cas?"

Castiel's eyes widen, and he answers as earnestly as he can. "Of course, Dean. But I hardly have any control over what happens at these clubs-"

"I'm joking," Dean interrupts, smirking a little but with a, Castiel is reluctant to say, fond expression on his face. People don't look at him fondly. He must have misread Dean's facial connotations.

"Oh," he answers instead.

They stare at each other for a long moment before Dean rubs at his neck. "So, um, do I need to prepare or..." he trails off, his face beet red now. "Look, I don't know what to expect here, and I could use your help- No!" he shouts suddenly, startling Castiel. "No, I don't need you to umm... No. What I mean is, Lucifer asks me to come to you for advice on what to do before we go," he explains.

"I see." He stares at Dean's reddening face and the slump set of his shoulder a while longer before he adds, Well. You need to prep yourself. It also helps if don't eat hours before we leave and it would be most practical if you give yourself an enema," he advises matter of factly. Dean's face twisted at that. "Gross, dude. I did not need to hear that." Castiel gives him a deadpan stare. "You asked, Dean. I'm merely providing the information you requested."

Dean lifts his hands in the universal sign of surrender. "Alright, alright. I'm just nervous, okay?" The defensiveness he felt at Dean's reaction disappears. His eyes soften as he tries to reassure him. "I'm sorry you're forced into this, Dean. If it helps, I'll try to take the burn of it tonight."

"Hey, no. Don't do that, Cas. I know where you've been last night. You must be sore." He stares at Dean, surprised that he would know, but then again the home is small, and it is a prescheduled thing. He feels a blush heats his face at the thought. He should be used to people knowing what he does by now, but he isn't. The shame lingers.

He _is_ feeling sore and the prospect of tonight is daunting. He hates to think how he would feel after. Unsure of what to say, he keeps quiet. 

Dean takes a deep breath and forces a smile. "I'll see you tonight." With that, Dean turns on his heels and walks back down the hallway towards the room he shared with Sam two doors down.

Castiel sighs, pushing himself out of bed. He winces as the movement pulls a muscle. Ignoring the pain, he grabs a towel, flips it over his shoulder and limps towards the communal shower. The group home has seven occupants. Lucifer Kane is the owner and person in charge of the home. He used to be an orphan himself, had stayed in this exact home until he turned eighteen and left. That was eight years ago. He never talks about his time away. Or why he decided to come back to Lawrence six months ago.

When Castiel first arrived, the others were already here; Tessa Rivera, Anna Milton, and Amelia Richardson. They are 15 and 16 respectively with Amelia being the youngest at eight. Then, of course, came Dean and Sam Winchester. The group home isn't large, but it does fit the seven of them comfortably. There are a total of six rooms, four bedrooms, an office and the laundry room. Dean and Sam took over Tessa's room, and she's now bunking with Anna and Amelia.

Castiel shuffles towards the sink and grabs his toothbrush. When he looks at his reflection in the mirror, he can't help but feel a stab of humiliation. There are dried white crusts at the corner of his mouth. He averts his eyes and focuses on brushing his teeth, washing away the taste from last night. He spits and gurgles then hangs his mouth under the tap, appreciating the fresh cold water as he drinks. He walks across the black tiled floor towards the stall in the corner. Hanging the towel on the peg outside, he pulls off his t-shirt. Stiffly, he steps out of his boxers and throws them into the hamper there.

Stepping inside, he pulls the curtain shut and turns on the shower. He reeks of sex. The cubicle soon fills with steam from the hot water. Castiel moves under the heavy spray and lets it washes away all the evidence of last night, the stickiness between his buttcheeks and the dried semen on his body and hair. Castiel Novak is a whore. A party favor. And Lucifer is his pimp. The group home is a front for what is actually a whorehouse. Anna, Dean, and Tessa were forced into the lifestyle too. Castiel doesn't know the gory details, but he heard their cries and witnessed the aftermath. It's one of the reasons the others avoided him.

Because he wasn't forced. In fact, he had submitted willingly. It hurts him to think about it, so he doesn't. Instead, he focuses on fingering his hole, rubbing at the rim gently before pressing a finger inside. He washes himself the best he can before he inserts two more fingers, scissoring himself open. He meant what he said to Dean. It's best to be prepared. He needs to make sure that he can take whatever is thrown at him without tearing or hurting himself because he knows the people at the club wouldn't care if he starts bleeding.

\---

Dean shakes his head in resigned embarrassment. He had made a fool out of himself in front of Castiel. He squeezes his eyes tight in shame. Did he actually ask him for advice on how to prepared for a gangbang? God, he wants to hide his face and never let it out into the open again. He'd totally made it up too. Lucifer hadn't even told him to speak to Castiel.

When Dean found out that he'll be doing the session tonight with Castiel, he thought he might puke a little. He was so nervous. The reason being is that he's nursing a crush the size of Texas on the guy. Ever since he came to Lawrence two months ago and started school at Lawrence High. 

He had seen Castiel around school with his too blue eyes and messy hair. He would fit right in with the mysterious broody type yet his sadness seems real. Too real. Dean just can’t put his finger on what it was. Castiel intrigued him. And he’s pretty to look at too. Every English and Biology lessons were spent surreptitiously watching him. The dude is often alone, and he kept mostly to himself. 

Dean just thought he might be shy or something, but then he had noticed the bruises. It wasn't exactly like a neon sign, in fact, it's subtle. If Dean hadn't been stalking or staring at him as much as he had, he probably wouldn't have noticed. 

Castiel always wore loose fitting sweater to school. Which isn't abnormal. It was winter after all. But sometimes, the too big sweater collar would move, and Dean noticed the hand shaped bruises around his neck. At first he was shocked. Part of him wanted to ask, help but another part of him was unsure. He didn't know what to do or what to say so he chose the ignorant way out. He kept quiet. 

The bruises continued to show up but not frequent. They don't seem to be the bad kind of injuries either. Sometimes, they looked like hickeys. Other times, rope burns. Maybe Castiel just has a kinky sex life. Except one day, he saw Castiel limped out of a van. He looked like shit. A man, whom Dean now knows as Lucifer, helped him out. He saw him kissed Castiel on the lips and felt his heart soared and plummeted at the same time. 

Castiel is gay! But he also has a boyfriend. Who probably was the one marking him. And judging from the way Castiel’s walking, fucked his brains out Dean thought, burning with jealous rage. At least, that’s what he imagined happened at the time. How was he to guess the truth?

Then of course, things had gone to shit. His dad dad didn't come home. He was away for almost a month. The rent was coming up. There was no money left. The food in the cupboard was dwindling. Towards the end, it had gotten so bad that Dean had to go out and steal because it's been two days since they'd last eaten. It was just his luck that one his second attempt, he got caught.

The whole story came out then. Social services came and dragged them out of their house and then they had accused dad of negligence. When Dean tried denying, they told him that he'd took off. They had seen many cases like this before. Dean wanted to tell them bullshit. They don’t know his dad. They don’t know his reasons for leaving. He was not a flight risk no matter what they said. He always came home. 

Something must have happened. He found something or- someone found him. Dean tried to file a missing person report but his all attempts were ignored. They don’t believe that his dad was missing. He was not there because he wanted to not because someone made him. 

Next thing he knew, he was thrown into this hell hole. That was three weeks ago and everything about Castiel made senses then. The fact that he never made eye contact, always staring at the ground and flinched when someone got close. Dean was surprised to see him at the home. And Lucifer. He didn’t know Castiel was an orphan. Or that Lucifer was responsible for him. How is it ethical to sleep with your charges? It’s not. Frankly, the group home gave him the creep the moment he stepped into the threshold. Something was definitely off.

At least, he got Sam with him. He was so afraid social services would seperate them. Sam's still young. He has a higher chance of adoption. But Dean’d been told that it differs per cases. In theirs, it was in Sam’s best interest to be with family. 

On second thought, though maybe Sam would be better off someplace else. Because what happened behind closed doors at the group home is an atrocity. The first night he was there, he overheard a conversation between Lucifer and Castiel. The gist of it was enough to clue him in on what's happening. The same night he had heard the moan and beds creaking throughout the home. His heart burned when he saw the old farts exiting Castiel's room. Moments later, Castiel limped out, his head bowed, and he saw the marks on him. The bruises. And fuck it all. 

Not two days later, Lucifer had forced him into the scene. Like hell. He fought with everything he had. He punched and kicked like how dad taught him, but it was pointless. He only managed to stem off his fate for another two days before a man named Alastair came and turned his life into a living hell. That night, he was raped for the first time. And it wasn't by that one man either. He had brought along his 'friends' and they had all took a turn with him like he was some kind of meat. 

His back tingles with phantom pain as he thought about it. What happened next was something he rather forgets. He sighs and closes his eyes. How is he going to survive the night with Castiel right there with him? It's been two months now. A month since he figured out Castiel is with Lucifer, and yet, his crush had not dimmed in the slightest. He's hopeless. Dean bangs his head twice on the door to his room, groaning frustratedly before he lets himself in. 

\---

Almost there, Lucifer thinks as he throws the pen he'd been using back into its holder. It falls exactly into place. Closing his books, he smiles as he leans back into his armchair, fingers linking together in front of his mouth. The profits has almost doubled this month. He can contribute that to his recent partnership with Fergus Crowley. 

Lucifer had managed to convince Crowley to be part of the crew two months ago. The man is a prominent resident of Lawrence, Kansas. He is a respectable principal of Lawrence High and is known for his philanthropy. His primary generosity is aimed at Kansas's new business ventures, dabbling in funds and investment. He also so has stakes in some of the long established companies here. He has all the makings to be a politician. Lucas is surprised he hasn't run for mayor yet.

Like all greasy politician, Crowley is as dirty as they get. Lucifer isn't sure where his financial wealth came from because he doubts a principal’s salary makes that much dough. Not like he cares. All that matters to him is that Crowley can be bribed. A man as influential as him is someone Lucifer needs to ensure a smooth sailing operation. And he'll never know when he could use a favor from someone of that stature. 

In dealing with the law, he's got Azazel LaBelle, Lawrence's own Chief of Police in his pocket. He had been back for half a year now and it had taken him three months to organize the whole setup. He had to get rid of the competition. Lawrence is segregrated into a few gangs. But the gang's activities can be split into two categories. Drugs and prostitution. Lucifer wasn't interested in drug dealing so he left the drugs related gang alone. He also excludes the human trafficking ring. Not his style. That leaves him with only a few gangs. The leaders of these gangs are typically strip joints or underground clubs owners and getting rid of them was easy. Especially with his kind of experience. 

Once he had merged the gangs in the area and formed his territory, every prostitute walking the streets were his. He even recruited the independent workers. Every night they pay the required amount to their pimps who then bank the amount into an offshore account he'd set up specifically for this. Still, it his operation works smoother with the law on his side. His next step was to look for an in with the local law enforcement. With his luck, he had found Azazel. During his rounds at the clubs, he had seen Azazel entering enough dubious establishments to know that he's is dirty. He's the person Lucifer needs.

Things went easier when he caught Azazel with a twink one night while visiting one of his joints. After questioning the prostitute, he had learned that Azazel has a weakness for barely-legal boys. That knowledge came to fruition a week later when Castiel was brought over by social service to his doorsteps. Getting Azazel on board is effortless then. Castiel fits Azazel's type to a T. 

In return for their alliance, both Crowley and Azazel get a share of the profits he made. Things had been going according to plan until one the day Azazel brought Alastair into the picture. Alastair Creely is the warden of Lawrence Prison. Azazel wanted to bring him into the business as their enforcer. There had been some trouble with gangbangers who think it's okay to beat up their prostitutes and the pimps were getting agitated with the number of fights they lately. They needed more muscles so to speak. And Alastair could provide that. Lucifer didn't see any problem with that and so Alastair had been added to the group. Instead of sharing the profits, he will be getting a fixed amount transfer into his account at the end of every month. 

However, during their first meeting with Crowley, Alastair came up with the idea of upping their 'diversity'. He's referring of course to the rest of his charges. Crowley, who had taken a liking to Anna, was in full support of the idea. He further states that the amount they would rake in by doing so will be obscene. It was three against one. There was nothing for him to do except to agree but he had drawn the line at Amelia and Sam. He had already whored out Castiel, what difference does it make to whore out the rest? And they were right. They made a huge profit that week. He turned a blind eye and deaf ears at the measures Alastair had taken to forced the children into the scene.

Alastair is sadistic. He had methods to make even the most reluctant and defiant of characters to submit. In this case, it was Dean. When he turned up three weeks ago was the worst week he'd been through ever since coming back. Dean was abrasive, challenging and hostile. He fights them every step of the way. Lucifer was forced to bring in Alastair. Without consulting first with Lucifer, he had brought his friends along and the whole thing had gotten way out of hand. When Alastair emerged from the basement with a smug face and announced that his work is done, Lucifer had felt a sting of fear. What he found down at the basement was the half-conscious bloody remain of Dean Winchester. The boy was destroyed.

Of course, it would be impossible to send Dean to the hospital without raising any suspicion. That's when Crowley's personal doctor, Gadreel Ward came into the picture. With stoic face, he tended to Dean's injuries. Since then, he became their personal doctor. He's in charge of their well being. When clients got too rough, he fixed them up. He also gave them weekly STD check up and for the females, provided birth control pills. For his trouble and silence, Gadreel receives the same payment structure as Alastair. 

He will be there at the club tonight. Tonight will be the first time his associates combine their playtime. Normally, Azazel would take Castiel, and Crowley would take Anna. But now that Dean's 'fixed', Crowley had suggested the idea of a club scene. He had been itching to get his hands on Dean ever since he ran into the teenager during one of their meetings at the home. He's nervous that Alastair will be there as well. Nevertheless, Lucifer is sure that with Castiel's experience and docility, the night will pass by with no hurdles. He hopes Dean wouldn't pose too much trouble. He doesn't want to give Alastair excuses to hurt any one of them. 

His eyes flicks to the bottom of the computer screen where the numbers are rapidly increasing. He smiles as he takes in today's earning. Not bad. If things go the way they are now, soon he'll be able to leave this town. Soon he'll be able to return. Soon he'll be able to exact his revenge. His face takes on an almost inhuman expression. Soon.

\---

"Gentlemen," Lucifer addresses, standing in the middle of a large carpeted room. They're in one of the VIP room at a club downtown called "Casa Erotica." After being in so many of these rooms the past months, they all look almost identical to Castiel now. Always the same designs with a variation of color and hues.

Today it's fluffy red carpeting, with a solid matte wallpaper the color of a dark rose. Large armchairs and couches littered the rooms. Always close by, a small table with a complimentary basket filled with lubes and condoms and an assortment of toys. He gives the room a cautionary once over. Well, it seems like Casa Erotica plans to give their customer the full experience. A large bed the shape of a heart occupies the far left corner. 

"I know you've all been looking forward to tonight's entertainment. You will not be disappointed. On my left, as you are all well acquainted with, is our obedient blue eyed angel. Never one to say no, he will obey to all your requests and demands. However, we have someone new tonight. On my right is our green-eyed demon who you all know is a little feisty and needs more encouragement to get on his hands and knees and spreads his pretty legs. So don't be afraid to be a little rough."

Castiel had been watching Dean out of the corner of his eyes during Lucifer's little speech. His heart feels heavy as he watches Dean clenches his jaw, his posture rigid. They are both kneeling on either side of Lucifer, clad in tight black boxer briefs and matching collars around their neck. He can feel the unease pouring off Dean in waves. His eyes move to the scars lining his back, and he feels an ache deep inside of him. Guilt gnaws at him as he lowers his head, eyes back on the patch of carpeting in front of him. 

"You have the whole night to do what you may with our boys here. I will be arriving in five hours to pick them up. Have a good evening." Lucifer bows and makes his departure. Castiel glances up at Lucifer's retreating back and waits. But the man left without a backward glance. His eyes drop to the floor in resignation as the door shuts with a soft click.

Someone clears their throat. Castiel knows better than to look up. Never make eye contact unless he's been told to. He understands his role well. Been taught the rule many times. His job here is to please and obey. He keeps his head down. A pair of pointed, sleek black shoe appears in his line of vision. Then, a finger hooks under his chin, tilting his head up. He is met by light golden eyes, almost yellow in the room's dimmed lightning. 

"How's my sweet boy doing? Missed me?" Azazel asks in his cloying voice. Castiel doesn't answer, knows he isn't expected to. He just stares up at the pointed face in front of him. At the too high cheekbones and large forehead. Azazel thumbs at his bottom lips and he let them part a little at his insistence. A smile curves Azazel's lips as he smears the saliva around before pulling away, leaving his pale pink lips spit slicked. 

He reaches back to the round table where a roll up leash lies and takes it, holding it up by the hook and letting the leather material trails to the ground. Castiel is jerked forward as Azazel slips his finger into the small hook ring attached to his collar and pulls. It burns as the leather rubs against the sensitive skins at his neck. He swallows and tries to breathe normally. The collar is fitted exactly, just the right amount of tight. 

There's a click and then the same sickeningly sweet voice is saying, "Come, boy. Come with Daddy." Castiel feels a tug at his throat and stumbles to his feet. He keeps his eyes down as he follows a step behind Azazel towards the large couch at the back. They pass by Gadreel, who's sitting in a chair, back straight and a constipated look on his face. He doesn't look happy to be here but his presence soothes Castiel.

He sneaks a peek over his shoulder, back to where Dean is still kneeling on the carpet but now with someone in front of him. It's Crowley, always in his three-piece suit. He is a stout rounded middle-aged man with a receding hairline. Currently, he's leering at Dean, smirking at the submissive pose he's holding. A sense of protectiveness so strong surges through him. He had always done these sessions alone and seeing someone else being treated like this makes him feel things he has never felt before. 

Crowley takes a hold of Dean's chin, forcing him to look up at him. Dean does, but it's apparent from the death glare that he's not happy with it. He jerks his chin free and continues to stare challengingly at Crowley. Alastair, who had been sitting in the background, uncrossed his legs with a knowing smile on his face.

A prickle of fear runs through him. But before he could see what happens next, Azazel tugs hard on the leash causing him to land on his knees between Azazel's spread legs. He chokes, tears prickling his eyes, fingers automatically coming up to pull at the collar. Gentle hands slip themselves into his hair, rubbing soothingly. Azazel is still fully dressed, but Castiel could see the tent in his suit pants. When Azazel catches him eyeing his erection, he shakes his head. "Not yet, sweetheart." He slaps at his lap. "Come up here."

Castiel blinks his tears away and climbs onto Azazel's lap. Rough hands grip his hips, guiding him down until he's seated right over his erection. Their bodies are almost touching, and he can feel Azazel's damp breaths puffing at his face. The hands on his hips begin a slow stroke up and down the side of his torso before venturing lower, dipping into the waistband of his boxer, cupping his ass. He closes his eyes then. He loathes this part. After three months and he will still never get used to letting people touch him this way. 

When Azazel's hands push his boxer briefs down, baring his ass to the room, he thought about the day he first met Lucifer. How sweet and charming he was. How he'd gotten Castiel to fall head over heel for him in a matter of days. How he lost his virginity at the dead of night in Lucifer's room, gasping and moaning in ecstasy. How the next day Lucifer told him how much he loves him and if Castiel loves him just as much. The following night saw Castiel squirming in bed with Azazel, getting fucked like there's no tomorrow.

Castiel snaps out of his thought. After that night, everything changed. Azazel started visiting two or three times a week. Then, it became that Castiel would be dropped off at his place. The first time that happened, he freaked out. Azazel likes to watch and the night soon became a nightmare that repeats every week. 

He shudders as a finger brushes against his entrance, tracing the sensitive rim. When it penetrates him, Castiel's eyes snap open. He lets out a small gasp and bows his head, fingernails biting into his thighs. He's still sore from last night, and although Azazel's being gentle about it, it still feels like someone is poking at a day old bruise. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine he's back in Lucifer's bed where it's warm, and the smell of ocean surrounds him.


	2. Chapter 2

The club is in high swing as Lucifer steps out of the closed-off VIP section catered for private parties. A DJ is playing on a raised platform in the middle of the dance floor, blasting a remix of the current hits as bodies sways and grinds against each other, lost in their own world. The bass is turned up so high; he could feel his blood sings with it. 

He approaches the bar and eyes the couple that has started to make out beside him. Rolling his eyes, he catches the bartender's attention. Pamela is used to him, having seen him around a few times. She strolls up and slides a bottle of Bud Light over to him, smiling seductively before turning around, showing off her 'Jesse4ever' tattoo on her lower back, just visible above her low-slung jeans. Smiling to himself, he tips the bottle back, savoring the fresh cold beer going down his throat.

One thing Lucifer is not, it's humble. He knows he's attractive, handsome even. And he's used to the attention he'll get when he frequent places like this. People hit on him all the time. Both men and women, Pamela included. But frankly, he's just not interested. He doesn't see the appeal of one night stands. 

He had all of two relationships in his 26 years of life and three sexual partners. He'd lost his virginity to his childhood friend a year after they started dating. They broke up amicably when they went their separate way after high school. The second relationship he had, they had gotten engaged. It's a chapter he rather forgets. And that brings him to his third and by far the most perplexing relationship with Castiel. 

The moment he had set eyes on the teenager, a sense of familiarity so profound hits him right in the gut, leaving him breathless. He doesn't get this way. He doesn't _feel_ this way. Doesn't get lured in by physical appearances. Yes, he notices when someone is handsome or beautiful, but it has always been a casual observation. He never felt the impulse to act on it. So he was stumped. 

Unable to resist the siren call, he approached Castiel, curiosity peaked, wondering what about him that had spoken to him on such a subatomic level. When Castiel had responded romantically to his advances, to say he was surprised was an understatement. His mind hadn't ventured there. All he wanted to do was to figure him out. Oddly enough, he felt himself responding back. He'd felt a stirring in his gut that he couldn't quite place a finger on. 

Castiel had been vulnerable and still hurting from his loss. Lucifer had been a good distraction, and he fed his insecurities and fear. Things had progressed more rapidly than he had anticipated from both sides. That night, after he had deflowered Castiel, he had taken the time to analyze the situation. What he felt for Castiel is an anomaly. Something about his blue eyes and dark hair hit home, touched on old wounds. He couldn't explain his behavior. 

He doesn't know what made him decided to lure Castiel into bed and painstakingly took him apart piece by piece. All he knew was that he can't keep his hands off him. He found himself returning for more, shoving him up against the wall or bent him over the desk. He _needs_. And he doesn't understand why. It's like Castiel soothes this ache in him that he doesn't even realize he has.

He downs the rest of his beer in one go and slams the bottle down on the bar top. Three months down the road and he's still no wiser. 

\---

Dean's jaw is aching by the time Crowley is done. There are tear tracks running down his face and snot too. Crowley was rough, triggering his gag reflex. He swallows and grimaces, hating the aftertaste of semen in his mouth. Of course, he wasn't allowed to spit, and the bitter tang is still fresh at the back of his tongue. Saliva drips messily down his chin, and he wipes it clean with the back of his hand.

Crowley zips himself up and saunters to an armchair beside Alastair and sits, crossing his legs, hands clasped on his belly. "If that's how your mouth feels like, I can't wait to pound that ass of yours," he drawls. He picks up a glass and a bottle of Scotch from the small table at his side and pours himself a drink. Dean ignores him and finds himself glancing over at Castiel again. His eyes widen as he sucks in a deep breath.

Castiel is completely naked now, and he's riding Azazel's cock, one arm clutching the man's shoulder and the other leaning back as he balances himself. His head is bowed, and he's gasping and trembling as he works himself up and down, thighs muscles flexing with the effort. His back is glistening and even from this distance, Dean could see the hair at the nape of his neck curls at the sweat gathered there. 

He pulls his eyes away, heat coloring his cheek and finds himself staring right at Alastair. The man is leaning forward in his chair, arms on his thighs and is gazing intently at Dean. As he watches, Alastair flicks his eyes in Castiel's direction. A chill runs down his spine. A cunning smile forms on Alastair's face and dread pools at the pit of his stomach. A long, loud moan fills the room. Dean doesn't dare to look.

Alastair's voice startles him. "Azazel, do you mind if I borrow Castiel?"

"Not at all."

Alastair's smile grows wider. Dean's throat couldn't get drier. "Castiel, be a dear and come over here, please?" He hears some shuffling and clothes rustling before the sound of approaching footsteps draw near. Soon, Castiel is standing completely naked by Alastair's side, in full view of Dean's line of sight.

He's not a saint, okay? He'll be the first one to admit that he's a man slut. A women and men-izer if there's such a thing. He can't help himself as he lets his eyes roam Castiel's slender body. His well toned, hairless chest. Those strong looking arms and thick thighs. And his to-die-for hipbones when his eyes freeze on his half hard cock. Castiel's rough voice breaks the near dead silence of the room. "How do you want me?"

"I think you should ask Dean that."

Castiel scrunches up his face in confusion before turning to tilt his head at Dean. Before he could ask, Dean blurts out, panicked. "Me? Why me?" His heart is running a mile a minute, almost like it wants to jump out of his chest and race into oblivion. The smile on Alastair's face is bordering on eerie. Dean doesn't have a good feeling about this. Not at all.

"You've been so good today. So obedient. I think you deserve a treat. Don't you think so, Crowley?" Crowley is sipping his Scotch, amusement in his eyes. 

"I'd say," he agrees, nodding.

"No. It's okay. I'm fine. Thank you," he gruffs out, sneaking glances at Castiel who is standing still, hands hanging awkwardly by his side, an unreadable expression on his face.

There's a moment of silence before Alastair abruptly stands up and grabs Castiel's arm, twisting it behind his back and holds him in an arm lock, his chest flushes against Castiel's back. Castiel's eyes widen in surprise as he gasps in pain. Then, he's dragging Castiel back to the loveseat and falls into it, pulling Castiel down on top of him. With his thighs, he nudges Castiel's knees apart and using his free hand, he hooks his legs over the arms on either side of the seat so that Castiel is spread obscenely with his hole on display.

Dean couldn't help but stares at Castiel's hole, red and puffy, the rim stretched and gaped a little. It looks painful. He wonders if it's only from the fucking he just had or an accumulation from yesterday's session. Dean glances up. Castiel is staring back at him, a blank expression on his face.

"Come and get your treat, Dean."

Dean swallows as he snaps his attention back to Alastair. He shakes his head numbly. Alastair tightens his grip on Castiel, causing him to wince. "Please..." Dean croaks, his voice raspy, eyes pleading. When Alastair shows no signs of relenting, he asks, knowing the answer but needing to say it anyway.. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I can. And because I want to." He glances down at Castiel's half hard cock and flicks it with his free hand. Castiel's thighs twitch and a gasp escape him. "I want you to fuck him. And I want you to make him come. Untouched. Whores come when they are fed a cock. Ain't that right, slut?" Alastair licks a line up Castiel's neck.

Dean looks back at Castiel in horror, but at the same time- desire. It’s sick. For months, he had dreamed about this. Had imagined what it would be like to touch Castiel. To be able to run his fingers through those soft locks. Feel their naked bodies gliding and grinding into each other. What it's like to be inside him. To feel that warmth enveloping him. To feel that lithe body writhing underneath him, holding on to him as they both chase their orgasm. And now he gets to have it. But it is all wrong. Castiel doesn't have a say in this. He doesn't want Dean. He doesn't want any of this. He hates this as much as Dean hates having Alastair's cock in him.

"Dean," Alastair warns. "I don't like to repeat myself."

Dean tries to swallow past the lump in his throat. He's about to rape Castiel. Dean feels like he's about to puke. Tears start to pool in his eyes.

"Dean, it's okay. You can fuck me," Castiel says in a soft voice. The resigned expression on his face says it all. 'It's okay because I'm used to it.' Dean bites back tears. No, he doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to be another person who uses Castiel's body. He doesn't want to because he actually gives a fuck. He cares for Castiel more than just as a warm body to put his penis in. 

Alastair picks up a nipple clamp from the table by his loveseat and clasps it around Castiel's left nipple. Castiel gasps and struggles a little against Alastair's grip on his arms, breathing hard. "If you don't do as you're told right now, the next one goes it," Alastair threatens, holding up the other piece. 

Castiel has his head bowed as he tries to steady his breathing, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Alastair moves the clamp over Castiel's right nipple before Dean comes to his senses and stumbles forward. Castiel hisses as the second clamp bites into his sensitive flesh.

Dean falls to his knees in front of Castiel. He bends forwards, eyes searching underneath the mop of hair until their eyes meet. Pain is evident on Castiel's face, and his breaths are coming out in short, sharp burst.

"I'm sorry, Cas... I'm sorry," Dean mumbles.

Castiel gives him a small smile. It's okay, he mouths.

Dean places a tentative palm on the inside of Castiel's thigh, hoping the touch will help soothes his nerve. He had been supporting a semi for the past few minutes. From perving on Castiel, his brain supplies. He pulls down the tight boxers and takes his half hard cock in his hand. 

"Ah ah. Take it off," Alastair commands. Dean stands and slips the boxers all the way off before kneeling in front of Castiel again. He bows his head, ashamed and also not wanting to look Castiel in the face as he jerks himself to full hardness, a deep flush coloring his cheeks. When he decides that he's ready, he looks up, and his heart does a somersault.

Castiel is watching him raptly, dark blue eyes focused on his cock still fisted in his hand, lips parted. He flicks his eyes up, meeting Dean's before he blushes and looks away, embarrassed. Fuck. Does Castiel want this too? familiarizes 

Without thinking, he shuffles closer between the V of Castiel's legs. The flush coloring his cheeks is now spreading down his neck to pool at his chest. Dean can't stop watching. Their eyes find one another, green against blue and the world fades away, and it's just the two of them. It's easy to ignore Alastair ugly mug peering over Castiel's left shoulder. Ignore Crowley sipping his stupid Scotch and the others in the room.

He takes a deep breath and guides his cock towards Castiel's hole. Castiel's rim looks so raw; it has got to hurt. Dean circles his head around the entrance, using his precome as lube. Castiel is already loose and open from before but still, he pushes in slowly, paying rapt attention for any signs of discomfort or pain. His head pops in easily, but Castiel still closes his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

God, Castiel feels so hot inside like he's burning. Wincing in sympathy, he leans closer and pushes in steadily. When he's fully seated inside Castiel, they both lets out an audible exhale. He is almost lying on top of Castiel now, and when he looks up, all he sees is blue. He swallows. Gazing into those azure eyes, it feels like Castiel is staring right at him. Into his very soul. Suddenly, Dean feels naked and not in the sense that he doesn't have a stitch of clothing on him. He clears his throat.

"Ready, Cas?" he whispers, voice so low and husky he barely recognizes it.

Castiel nods. Then Dean begins to thrust. He pulls out and thrusts back in, switching angle every once in a while, his eyes never leaving Castiel's face, cataloging all the micro expression there. Castiel is lying back against Alastair, pupils dilated and never once did they break eye contact. Castiel feels so warm and deliciously wet. From Azazel's come, his brain reminded. A surge of possessiveness prompts him to thrust in harder and faster.

Castiel groans, low and deep, eyes falling shut as he hits the bundle of nerves inside him. Dean aims his thrust, brushing against the spot again and again, drawing out these tiny mewls from Castiel. He looks so gorgeous like this, debauched and wanton, his lips red and swollen from trying to keep his moans in. Dean wants to kiss that lips, wants to feel the vibration of his moans in his mouth. Forgetting himself, he leans forward and presses their lips together.

Castiel gasps his eyes flying open, shocked. But Dean doesn't care. He wants this. Had wanted this for so long. To feel Castiel below him, to be able to hold him, feel him, kiss him. He knows he's being selfish right now and that he shouldn't be enjoying this because oh my god it's rape but he can't help himself. He moans into Castiel's mouth and kisses deeper. For his part, Castiel doesn't respond, his body tensed and lips stiff and stilted.

Defeated, he lets out a broken sob and starts to pull back, about to apologize when Castiel opens his mouth wider and kisses back. He's hesitant at first like he isn't sure if he's allowed to. Their lips slip and slide against one another, Dean's hand coming up to cup Castiel's jaw. He can't help the happy sigh that escapes him, the corner of his lips curling up into a smile as he kisses Castiel and to have him kiss back!

Castiel tugs his bottom lips between his teeth, moaning deeply as he bites into it. Dean almost comes on the spot, still buried deep inside Castiel. His hip gives an involuntary hard thrust, his chest accidentally brushing over the clamps on Castiel's nipple causing the teen underneath him cries out, body spasming as he comes, striping his stomach and chest white.

Dean pulls back, lips red and swollen as he watches Castiel's face crunches up with the force of his orgasm before blissing out as he calms down from the high. The clench of his ass around Dean's cock sends him spiraling into his own orgasm, pumping his load deep inside Castiel. Dean bows his head, gasping as he tries to catch his breath.

Now that it's over, he doesn't dare to look at Castiel. Too afraid of what he would see there. Is Castiel disgusted with him? Will he ever forgive him for this? Oh god, did he fucked this up? But Castiel did kiss him back, didn't he? So maybe, maybe he wanted this too? He doesn't dare bring himself to hope. Castiel's in love with Lucifer, clear as day. Dean shouldn't forget that. Despite how dubious this situation is, he can't help but feel just a tiny bit glad that he got to have this.

When he finally dares to look up, soft blue eyes are staring back at him. Castiel's face is relaxed, and there's a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Not the sad one he always wear. A genuine one. The sight leaves Dean breathless. He looks... happy. And Dean did that. He put that smile on Castiel's face. Without noticing it, his own face breaks into a smile of its own.

\---

In the amount of time it took for him to finish two bottles of beer, he had been hit on by three women and two men. He had declined politely, stating that he's waiting for someone. That isn't too far from the truth. He is waiting, just not a special someone but rather a group that at that moment, he notices, just entered the club. He keeps his eyes on them, confirming his suspicion. 

The group, consisting of both men and women are heading towards the VIP section. He does a quick headcount and familiarize himself with their faces. Crowley had mentioned that he will be bringing some of his associates along. It isn't uncommon for his 'business partners' to organize orgies or gangbangs. Azazel did that countless of time with Castiel. But this is the first time Crowley had voiced any interest in doing so. What's interesting is that he had declined to give any names when Lucifer had asked. Assuming they might be more of Kansas's finest, Lucifer wants to scope them out.

He watches as Crowley's supposed associates push and shove their way through the crowd, acting like self-entitled morons. He observes their antics, takes in their young gullible faces and snorts. They're teenagers, can't be any older than 18 or 20. Associates his ass. He wonders who these people are and why Crowley would invite them. In any case, they don't seem to be worth his time. He slides off his stool, chucks a few dollar bills as tips and maneuvers his way through the mass of sweaty undulating bodies towards the exit.

\---

Castiel is almost catatonic by the end of it. Everything hurts. His jaw hurts, his throat hurts, and he just knows that when he does speak, his voice will be gruff like sandpaper. He wonders if he should skip dinner, sure that he won't be able to swallow around solid food anytime soon. Around his wrists and ankles, rope burns marred the delicate skin there.

The familiar ache between his legs cause him to groan unhappily. He doesn't even want to think about his anus. Alastair had decided to fist him to get rid of the come inside him. Then, he had taken it upon himself to dole out lashes to his sore hole just to hear him scream. They have to strap him down because he was trashing too much, desperate to avoid the vicious lashes. He was never subjected to Alastair's abuse before nor had he cried or begged during a session but that night, he broke. The area between his asscheek is burning red by the time Alastair let up.

There wasn't much he remembered after that. He felt himself being shoved around. Sometimes, he would come to and find himself in different positions. Everything is a blur of cocks, semen, and naked bodies. Castiel was just trying to get through the night, doing whatever he is told to do on autopilot. He grabs at the cocks he sees, pumping them, his mouth wide open waiting to be used, legs spread when he felt someone nudging in between. 

His body is covered in semen and bruises. No human being should look like this. _Used_. There's not a part of him untarnished. Three months in and he's all used up. It's hard to imagine he used to be an awkward virgin. He doesn't think there's anything he hadn't done or had been done to him. Had taken maybe a hundred cocks since and now he can add anal fisting to his ever growing lists of sexual experiences. It was both dehumanizing and painful. Alastair gave no thought to the person underneath him, doesn't care that he's a person with feelings and can be hurt. 

Castiel opens his eyes and squints in the darkness. Wetting his dry lips, he tastes dried semen at the corner of his mouth. He's alerted to his surrounding when he hears raised voices. He straightens up, groaning in pain as he did and tries to get his bearing, blinking as he recognizes the interior of Lucifer's van. The one he uses to drive them around. He tries to move but something holds him back. A glances down shows him that he's buckled in. Raised voices can be heard outside. That's probably what had woken him up. 

"You know how he is. He got carried away."

"That's no excuse! Castiel is good and obedient. He'll do anything you say, but there's a limit. His subservience should not be taken advantage of. What Alastair did- he'd gone too far. I've never seen Castiel so out of it as he was today. Please keep a handle on your friend, Azazel. They are here to entertain. Not to be tortured."

Castiel perks up. That is Lucifer's voice. And he sounds mad. Because he had gotten hurt. Lucifer _does_ care. Warmth blossoms in his chest and he feels the corner of his lips curl up into a small smile. Lucifer had called him good. Obedient. If that is what it takes to get to see this side of Lucifer again, then yes, he can be obedient. He looks up when the door to the driver seat opens, and Lucifer climbs in, starting the engine. A bolt of pain shoot up his spine as the van rumbles to life causing him to hiss. Lucifer turns around at the sound.

"Look who's up," he murmurs, reaching back to run his fingers through Castiel's sweaty and come covered hair. "It's okay, Cassie. I'm here. Go back to sleep. I'll wake you when we're home."

Home. Yes. He is going home with Lucifer. Castiel smiles at the thought as he let himself drifts off, happy and content to have Lucifer's scratching and massaging his scalp. "Love you, Luci..." he mumbles. 

With the steady hum of the engine lulling him to sleep, his breathing soon evens out. Before long, he's fast asleep, completely unaware of the body a seat away from to him. Large sad green eyes watch as he dreams. In the dream, he was chasing something and then he's falling. Falling fast and deep. His body twitches and his eyelids flutter, but they stay closed. He settles and the landscape changes. It's quiet and calm where he is. Forest grows on all sides, a pasture of green. He should feel at ease but for some reason, he's restless. A niggling feeling at the back of his mind like he's forgetting something. Something important.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end note for fanart.

"Hey Cassie, wake up..."

Castiel blinks groggily as strong arms wrapped themselves around his back and under his knees. He startles awake when he's being lifted up and grabs onto the first thing his hands come across.

There's a small huff of laughter and an amused voice teased good-naturedly. "It's okay, Cassie. It's alright. It's only me. You're grabbing my nipples pretty hard there."

Castiel stares up at the face smiling down at him. "Luci...?" He squints, still disoriented and sleepy when his gaze falls onto his hand that is white knuckling onto the front of Lucifer's shirt. He lets go, casting his eyes down as he mutters, "Sorry..."

"If it makes you feel better, you can hold on to me."

Thinking he'd heard Lucifer wrong, Castiel looks up and searches his face. When Lucifer doesn't say anything, he rasps out a hopeful "Really?" Lucifer nods, expression soft. 

Heart inexplicably warmed, he presses closer, wrapping his arms around the solid body against him. He closes his eyes and nuzzles his head against the soft fabric. Lucifer adjusts his grip and carries him out the van, using his shoulder to nudge the door shut. It didn't take him long to start crying after that, silent tears staining Lucifer's shirt.

He feels like a baby for crying. But he can't stop the tears from falling if he tried. The familiar warmth and smell surrounding him break something inside him. Lucifer's touch is careful and gentle, his voice soft and soothing, a stark contrast to what he'd just endure. He feels shaky and fragile like he might break at the slightest touch. 

His hands tangle into Lucifer's shirt, crumpling it as he breathes in soft flowery scent of the fabric softener. There's something else too. Something breezy yet wild, like the ocean. Lucifer's body wash. He relaxes, taking comfort in the knowledge that the horrible night is over, and his job is done. At least for the moment. As they pass through the hallway, something catches his eyes.

A door. To Dean's room. Dean. 

He snaps his eyes up. "Where's Dean?" 

"Dean's in the shower right now. He got out before you did."

"Is he okay?"

Lucifer nods and looks down at Castiel, an upward tilt at the corner of his lips. "You both did good today. I'm pleased." He pauses and adds, "Alastair worked you over real bad tonight, didn't he?"

Shame courses through his veins and he looks away. He understood that he's a plaything, and that providing sexual gratification is his purpose. But what happened to him tonight was so dehumanizing, it made him feel less like a human and more like trash. Rode hard and put away wet. It's hard to summon the dignity after that to act or feel like a person again. 

"Did he damaged you?" 

"I don't know," he answers honestly. "I feel sore. It hurts when I sit."

Lucifer clenches his jaw. "I'm going to take a closer look, okay? And if you're injured, I'll send Gadreel for you tomorrow. I'm going to make it all better." He bends down and plants a soft kiss on his forehead. His eyes close at the touch, and the fluttery feeling in his chest doubles three folds. 

He opens his eyes when he hears a door being shoved open. Looking around, he's surprised that they're in Lucifer's room. He was expecting the communal shower, but instead Lucifer is nudging the door to his adjoining bathroom with his foot. As the group home's supervisor, Lucifer enjoys certain perks and having his own bathroom is one of them. 

"Alright Cassie, I'm going to put you down. I think it's best if you sit on the toilet seat while I fill the tub. Then we can get you cleaned so that I can check for injuries," he explains, straight to the point. His tone has changed, and he's acting different, more methodical and impassive. The room feels a degree or two colder. 

Castiel struggles to his feet as Lucifer sets him down, muscles protesting. He guides himself down onto the toilet seat, blood rushing to his face as semen drips out his anus to splash down the toilet. Sneaking a glance at Lucifer, he breathes a sigh of relief as the man appears to be busy preparing the bath to notice. He spares his body a glance before he looks away, glad that he couldn't see himself in the mirror. 

From what little he'd seen, he's filthy, covered in bodily fluids and bruises. The only thing that seems untouched is his penis, lying limp between his thighs. It's a sorry sight. Clients pay to take pleasure from his body and never once did they reciprocate. Besides Lucifer, who sometimes gave him the reach-around, he rarely came from any of his sexual encounters. Unless his orgasming is part of the clients pleasure. He shudders as he thinks of Charlene aka 'Chastity'.

Wait. That's not right. He did experience an orgasm tonight. And he remembered the after glow. It had been a good one. But how? Dean, his brain supplies. Memories of tender green eyes and soft kisses slams into him so hard, he's left gasping.

"Cassie, what?" Lucifer looks up from his place at the side of the tub.

"N..nothing." He shakes his head, averting his eyes. 

Dean. How could he forget that? Dean fucked him tonight. Dean fucked him like he means something. Something other than just a willing hole. The conflict on his face as he was forced to penetrate him reminds him that what they did was essentially rape. In a way. They hadn't consented because they want to but because they were forced to. So why had it felt different? 

Dean was so gentle. Instead of pain, he felt a slight burn and then the overwhelming feeling of fullness. He hadn't been able to keep his eyes off Dean's face as he thrusted into him, enraptured by those forest green eyes that brightened with every sound he made. He remembered being so caught up in pleasure that he hadn't caught it when Dean kissed him. Castiel brings his fingers up to his bottom lips. Dean had kissed him! 

Before Lucifer, no one had ever kissed him on the lips before. Too shocked at the time, he hadn't reacted, didn't know how. But when Dean let out that heartwrenching whimper, he kissed back. His heart was beating so fast, and he was feeling so confused but when Dean moaned happily into his mouth, all doubts fled his mind. Their tongues clashed, both of them desperate for more. He recalls long dark eyelashes, sun-kissed skin, and freckles. Dean has freckles. He never noticed them before. They suit him. He wonders what else he'd missed about the green-eyed teen.

Dean kept his thrusts against his prostate, not letting up as he works him into a frenzy. When he came, it's one of the most intense orgasms of his life. His body locked up, and his mind blanked out, just pure bliss as he shot ropes after ropes of white fluid, hips thrusting up with the force of it. That's the first time he'd come untouched. He wasn't sure if he could at first. When he regained his strength to open his eyes, he's met with wide green ones, looking back with awe and wonder. 

Staring down at his hands, the beginnings of doubt prickle at the edge of his mind. He must have remembered it wrong. For a moment there, he'd thought Dean looked at him like he's something good, something special. But that can't be it. Dean had seen first hand what he does, what he was doing when Dean was forced to fucked him. No sane human being would look at him and see anything other than a used whore. Maybe not so much now since he seventeen and his body is still young. But a few years down the road, all the abuse would take its toll. And then what?

Castiel finds himself unable to stop the sob that threatens to escape him. What is going to happen to him? Is this going to be his life? Getting fucked by strangers every night? Letting them do whatever depraved thing they have in mind? He's scared. He doesn't know how much more of this his body could take. On more than one occasion, he had woken up to a bloody sheets. 

One day, a client would get too rough and he'll end up in the hospital with a messed up rear or brain damage from lack of oxygen. He's been strangled with rope, scarves and ties, choked on dick shoved so far down his throat he passed out. Or worse, he could end up dead in the streets, stuffed in an alleyway, his body left to rot, forgotten and insignificant. Just as he's about to have a full-blown panic attack, a strong hand grips him by his arm and pulls him up. 

"Let's get you in the tub," Lucifer murmurs. 

Staring up at him with wide, terrified eyes, it dawns on him that Lucifer would know. If he ends up dead somewhere, there's at least one person who would miss him. The thought reassures him somewhat. He leans his weight onto the arms holding him up and limps towards the tub. With Lucifer's help, he's able to lift his legs up and steps inside. 

The water is warm against his skin. Settling down into the tub, Castiel lets out a sigh and drops his head, closing his eyes. He could hear Lucifer tinkering about the bathroom before he takes a sit by the tub. Using the washcloth he'd found, Lucifer begins to clean him. First he wipes down his arms, then his chest before he takes him by his shoulder and guides him forward, allowing him to reach his back. The soft cloth feels comfortable against his skin, the gentle circular motion lulling him to sleep. It feels so good. 

"Lean back and spread your legs," Lucifer instructs. Castiel leans back against the white porcelain and spreads his legs as far as the tub allows him to go. Lucifer swipes the cloth down his abdomen and hips. Then, he lifts one of Castiel's leg up and runs the cloth over it, washing away most of the semen stain on the inside of his thighs. He did the same for the other leg before motioning for him to stand up. 

When he does, Lucifer drains the tub and turns on the shower. He instructs Castiel to stand beneath it. He does, letting the hot water beat down on him. Running his hands through his hair, he tries to wash out the sticky substances there. As the telltale fluid sluices off him, so does the tension in his body. Exhaustion settles deep into his bones. He braces his palms against the black tiles in front of him and let his head hangs down.

Someone steps into the tub with him. He turns around, eyes focusing on all that glorious skin in front of him. Lucifer is handsome by himself but a naked Lucifer is a sight. His body is a work of art. He is muscular but not overly so, his body chiseled and angled not unlike an ancient Greek sculpture. There's a quiet grace to his movements too, sure and certain, that complements it. 

Adorning his chest, right over his heart is a tattoo the shape of a flaming sword. The hilt is position right over a small round scar, and the intricate design around it gives the scar an appearance of a gemstone from afar. It's inked black and with cerulean blue as flame. 

Lucifer takes a step towards Castiel, body glistening as the spray falls onto his broad chest. A couple more steps and they're standing hips to hips, his icy blue eyes boring into his own. At 5'11, Castiel is by no means short but Lucifer still has a few inches on him. Lucifer closes his eyes and leans down, pressing their forehead together. The action cause every muscles in his body to unclench. This feels intimate. Castiel so rarely get to have this that he's soaking it up while he can.

They stand like that under the hot shower for awhile. Steam rises and everything takes on a blurred, misty look. They look like drowned cat with their hair hanging down, clinging wetly to their forehead. Lucifer opens his light blue eyes and when he sees Castiel staring at him, he smiles. This close to him, Castiel can see the devilish gleam in his eyes. The man has a unique smile, one that has mirth dancing in it but still gives an impression of a quiet smile. It is both captivating and scary to look at. 

Lucifer reaches out and grabs the shampoo bottle by Castiel's head, pouring a copious amount onto his hands. He startles in surprise when Lucifer starts rubbing the clear pink liquid onto his head, nails scratching against his scalp. He leans into the touch and sigh with contentment. 

"You like that?" Lucifer mumbles. He nods. "Maybe I should do this more often. Would you like that?" Castiel nods. "Even if you have to go through another night like this?" Castiel hesitates but then he nods. He will take hundred nights like this one if that means he gets to have this. Lucifer brushes a foamy hand against his cheek and mumbles. "Why are you so good to me?" 

"I want to be good for you, Luci," he says and means every word.

"You do, Angel." He looks down at Castiel for a moment, face smooth as a marble before returning to the task at hand. Foams begin to form and dribble down the side of his face and into his eyes. Before he has the chance to wipe it away, Lucifer turns him around and guides his head under the spray. Castiel runs his fingers through his hair, feeling the dirt and suds flow away with the water. 

Without warning, Lucifer starts running his hands over his back. A familiar scent hits his nostrils. The ocean. Lucifer is using his own body wash on Castiel. He is going to smell like him now. For some reason, the notion puts a smile on his face. He turns around.

"Can I?" he asked, motioning for the body wash. Lucifer nods. He squeezes the blue liquid onto his palm and lathers them up until they're nice and foamy. Closing the gap between them, he runs his hands in circular motions down Lucifer's chest to his abdomen and the jut of his hips. He hesitates briefly before tracing the trail of dark blonde hair down to his penis. He washes the area around the groin, massages the balls there before taking Lucifer's penis in his hand, giving it few tugs. At his ministration, Lucifer begins to harden. 

"Cassie," he says warningly. When he looks up, Lucifer is giving him a stern expression but his eyes are soft. "Cmon, turn around and brace yourself against the wall. Spread your legs for me." 

Obediently, he turns around and presses both palms against the wall and spreads his legs. He feels self-conscious as Lucifer kneels behind him and spreads him open. He can feel his hole twitches as the cold air hit the sensitive skin there. Water rolls down his back and slides down between his cheeks. Fingers start to probe at his opening. Castiel hisses and shies away from the touch. The area around his ass is still sensitive, and his rim feels raw and used. 

"Just relax," Lucifer mumbles. Castiel takes a deep breath and tries to unclench. Lucifer pushes a finger past his rim and then another. He opens up easily, but that doesn't mean that it didn't hurt. Castiel focuses on his breathing as Lucifer scissors him open further, pumping his fingers in and out. 

"Hmm... Apart from being a little swollen, there doesn't seem to be any tearing. Nothing some sleep and rest couldn't cure. You'll be as good as new come tomorrow morning," Lucifer announces, pulling his fingers out and playful smacks Castiel's ass before standing up. He climbs out the tub and grabs some towels. 

Castiel turns off the shower and steps out of the tub gingerly. Draping a towel around Castiel's shoulder, Lucifer exits the bathroom while drying himself. Left alone, he wipes himself down and lowers his head as he dries his hair. Flicking his dark strands out of his eyes, Castiel wraps the towel around his hips and walks out.

Lucifer is lying on his bed naked, stroking his now fully hard, condom covered cock. He raises an expectant eyebrow at him. Castiel swallows the lump in his throat and walks over. 

Dropping his towel, he climbs onto Lucifer's bed, crawling up his legs to position himself on top of Lucifer's crotch. The head of his cock nudges at his sore opening. He doesn't feel like sex, and he is still hurting too much to enjoy it. But he doesn't want to disappoint Lucifer, not after he had been so nice to him. 

"Um... don't we need lube for this?" Castiel asks meekly. 

"You're still open and loose, Cassie. Plus, you don't want to go to the trouble of cleaning up again, do you?"

He looks down and shakes his head. Holding Lucifer's cock in place, he starts to impale himself slowly, breathes hitching as his hole is forced to take yet another cock. Once he's fully seated, Lucifer takes hold of his hip, mindful of the bruises there and starts to thrust. 

Castiel lies down on Lucifer chest, head turned and closed his eyes. Lucifer starts out slow with long full thrusts. He's careful not to brush his prostate. Before long, Lucifer's thrusts begin to quicken, and his hand moves from Castiel's hip to grab his ass, spreading him wide as he fucks into him, all rhythm lost as he nears completion. Castiel squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth, waiting it out.

After several hard thrusts, Lucifer comes silently, grabbing hard onto his ass, nails digging into the flesh of his ass. They stay like that for awhile, Lucifer's arms around him as he comes down from the high. His rapid heartbeats thuds against his chest. 

Castiel treasures moments like this when Lucifer is sated and content, basking in his post orgasm glow. He's much softer, more affectionate after sex. The quiet moment continues until Lucifer smacks his ass. Taking that as a sign, he pushes himself up and carefully lifts himself off Lucifer's softening cock. Lucifer rolls the condom off and throws it into the bin beside his bed. 

"Go to bed, Cassie. I'll see you tomorrow." He takes Castiel's hand and places a kiss on his knuckles. Castiel nods and wraps the towel around his hips again before limping away. When he reaches the door, he looks back at Lucifer. He is already turned around, covers up to his hips, breathing even. 

"Goodnight, Luci," he whispers before shutting the door with a soft click. 

He limps back to his room, pausing when he notices lights shining out from a half-open door. Realizing that it is Dean's room, he approaches it, bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. When he reaches the doorway, he sees Dean kneeling by Sam's bed, tucking the covers up around his little body. He is wearing a worn looking t-shirt with a graphic logo on it and boxers. 

Sensing that he's being watched, Dean looks up. When he spots Castiel, the corner of his lips turns up. He stands and walks towards him, a slight limp in his gait. Dean places his hand on the doorknob and smiles. He smiles back. Watching Dean, he can't help but thinks that something is off. He struggles to pinpoint exactly what it is when Dean murmurs, voice soft. "Goodnight, Cas." Then, he pushes the door close, and Castiel is left standing outside in the dark. 

He blinks before he limps back to his room. He lets the towel falls and climbs into bed, pulling the cover over his exhausted body. He rolls onto his stomach and reaches for his bag that's lying on the floor beside his bed. He unzips it and pulls out a notebook and a pen. Flipping the notebook over, he flips through the last pages backwards until he reaches his last entry. He writes for awhile before closing it and returns it to his bag. 

It isn't until he's lying on his back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling that he realises what's bugging him. The look on Dean's face as he closes the door, the smile curling his lips. His smile has lost the warmth and openness in them. Now, it just looks small and... _sad_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart: [Comfort](http://trenchcoatandimpala.tumblr.com/post/145155118853/its-a-terrible-life-by-trenchcoatandimpala)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end note for fanart.

Glacial blue eyes flashes. The sound of a gunshot rings in the still air. And then he is falling. It feels like he is falling a long time before he hits a surface.

Cold sharp pain blooms all over his body. Like thousand needles pricking into him all at once. Sharp and relentless. He couldn't breathe. His body is screaming in agony as he is dragged further down into darkness. Water floods his lungs, and every breath feels like he's swallowing fire. Every inhales and exhales burn. The last thought that flits through his mind before his body goes numb and he loses consciousness is that this must be what hellfire feels like. 

Lucifer snaps his eyes open. He is sprawled on his back in bed, cold sweat covering his naked skin. As stares up at the ceiling, cold blue eyes bright in the morning light, his face is calm and serene. All in all, he looks peaceful. The rapid rise and fall of his chest are the only indication that he is anything but.

\---

Castiel startles awake when he feels a body draped over his back. He gasps when two fingers shove their way into him, his body jerking away instinctively from the intrusion. He's stopped from moving too far when a hand grabs him by the hips and the full weight of the body on top of him presses down, restraining him. A hand fists themselves into his hair and pulls hard, snapping his head up at a painful angle. Unable to comprehend what's happening, he starts to panic. 

"Wha-?" Castiel's eyes dart around wildly before he catches sight of Lucifer. The man is nosing at his nape, eyes close. A terrified whine escapes his throat as he realizes what this is. The silent fury. The eerie stillness. The closed off expression. He had seen this before and the last time this happened, he ended up traumatized. Fear courses through him and he starts to tremble. 

"Luci, please..." he tries even though he knows nothing he says is going to go through to Lucifer when he is like this. Reliving whatever memories he has stuck in his head. The hatred and loathing is palpable in the way he forces himself on Castiel. 

Castiel bites his lips when he feels Lucifer's cock nudging between his ass cheeks in search of his hole. His eyes begin to water, and he struggles under Lucifer's heavier built, but there's no give. He's trapped. "No, Luci, please!" he sobs out. 

Completely silent, Lucifer lets go of his hair and slides his hand down to his chest, holding him tight against him. His cock nudges once, twice around his entrance before it catches. Then in one hard thrust, he shoves in, forcing Castiel to muffle his screams into the pillow. Without giving him time to adjust to his girth, Lucifer starts a fast pace, his breathing heavy in Castiel's ear. He grips his pillow tight and holds on as Lucifer slams into him. Tears leak onto the sheets as he tries to stifle his cries. 

"Cas!" 

Castiel's head snaps up. Dean is standing in his doorway looking as pale as a ghost. In a matter of seconds, he's in the room reaching out to pull Lucifer off him. Sensing his approach, Lucifer growls low in his throat as his grip tightens. Castiel doesn't know where he summoned the strength from, but he manages to shake his head at Dean, warning him to stay back. Dean halts, looking confused and concern. But when Castiel winces in pain at a particularly hard thrust, he darts forward.

"Go away!" he bites out.

Dean freezes. 

"Go, Dean. Please..." he chokes as Lucifer's thrusts become frantic, pounding hard into him from behind. The headboard slams into the wall as the bed squeaks in protest. "GO!"

Dean crumbles in on himself. He swallows before taking a step backwards, eyes never leaving Castiel's face. When he reaches the door, he pauses, jaws twitching as he clenches his teeth. For a moment, Castiel thought he's just going to stand there, but then he turns around and walks back down the hallway, his footsteps growing softer until they fade away. 

Castiel lets his head fall. He doesn't want Dean to get into trouble for his sake. Especially not with Lucifer. Dean has got enough on his plate. He doesn't need to shoulder Castiel's problems too. It's just a little fucking, albeit one that feels very much like rape, but nothing he couldn't handle. He muffles another cries of pain as Lucifer pulls out and thrusts back in, pushing himself up onto his hands. He repeats the movement, his eyes burning on where he shoves himself into Castiel. 

Grabbing him by his hips, Lucifer pulls him up onto his knees before mounting him again. It hurts but all he can do is grit his teeth and wait it out, desperately hoping that Lucifer would finish soon even when he knows that wishful thinking. When he gets like this, cold fury simmering underneath his calm exterior, Lucifer doesn't fuck to come. He fucks like it's his mission. Like it's something he has to do. If Castiel didn't know better, he would say Lucifer is acting possessive. Every hard punishing thrusts like a claim. A warning. 

Castiel leans on his arms as he struggles to keep his position. Lucifer grabs his hair and shoves his head down so that his back arches obscenely and fucks some more before pulling out. He rips the condom off, leaning down as he furiously jerks his cock over Castiel's ass. Hot semen stripes his skin, seeping into his abused hole. There's no moan, groan or even a sigh to signify his orgasm.

Then comes the part that hurt the worst. Lucifer leaves without saying a word. Not even a backward glace or any form of acknowledgement. Castiel is used to the feeling. To be used and thrown aside, but when it's Lucifer, the hurt cuts deeper. He doesn't know why he still cares.

Fuck. 

Castiel pushes himself up slowly, a grimace on his face. Grabbing the towel that was still lying on the floor, he wraps it around his hips, deciding that a hot shower would help him feel human again. He limps into the hallway and makes his way to the communal shower when he hears voices. .

"That's right buddy, I'm watching you. Make those pearly white shines, I don't want you getting cavities. Getting drilled is no fun, trust me." The voice is somewhat distorted, and he finds out why when he reaches the doorway. Dean is eying Sam, toothbrush in his mouth. They're both standing in front of the sink. 

Dean notices his presence from the mirror. His face shuts down and deliberately looks away. Bending over, he gurgles and spits, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he's done. Feeling snubbed, Castiel shifts his gaze and finds them locked on Sam's who staring at him through the mirror. He gives Sam a small smile. The boy waves back. Dean straightens up and places his toothbrush in the holder by the sink.

"Hello Dean," he greets in a low rumble, voice rough from trying to suppress his screams earlier. Dean gives a curt nod, not looking at him. He sighs.

"Dean, about Luc-," He spares a glance at Sam before continuing, "About what happened earlier, I didn't mean to shout at you. I didn't want you to get into trouble," he explains, eyes pleading. 

Dean turns around, eyes wide and furious. "Cas, I don't give a damn if I get into trouble! He was hurting you!"

Sam spits into the sink and says, "Dean, you said a bad word!"

"Sorry, bud," Dean apologizes, making a zip motion over his lips. When Sam's preoccupied with washing his toothbrush and gurgling his mouth, Dean returns his gaze. He leans back against the porcelain sink, eyes tired and exhausted.

"You were hurt, Cas. And I can't just stand by and do nothing about it. I just can't," he continues, his voice soft. "It feels wrong."

"Dean, you can't save everyone. Though you try." He limps into the room, and Dean is on his feet in an instance, rushing over to Castiel to help him. He huffs. "And I thought chivalry is dead."

Dean blushes. He watches in amusement as the blush spreads across Dean's cheek to burn at the tip of his ears. Without thinking, he lifts a hand and flicks the reddened ear, earning a small yelp from the green eyed boy. When Dean looks up at him with wide eyes, he feels his own face flushes red. 

"What's that for?"

He shrugs, looking down. "Your ears were red. And I umm... I don't know why I did that," he finishes lamely, giving Dean a sheepish look. Dean stares for a moment before a smile works its way onto his face, green eyes twinkling.

"Dean," Sam whines as he tugs on Dean's jeans. "Can I go and read now?"

"Yeah yeah." Dean kneels down, so he is eye level with Sam. "Is it the one Ms. Rosen asked you to finish this weekend? What was it called? Charlotte something..."

"Charlotte's Web! I'm almost finished!"

"Good. Have you done all your homework?"

"Yep!" Sam says proudly. "Can I go now? I want to know to know if Fern managed to save Wilbur!"

"Alright alright, go," Dean says smacking Sam's ass as he runs out of the communal shower, whooping. "Nerd," Dean huffs, expression fond. 

Castiel feels a tug in his chest at the soft look on Dean's face. "You're a good brother."

Dean startles and rubs a hand behind his neck, embarrassed. Then his expression turns sad, and he drops his hand. "I'm not really. I tried, but sometimes I feel like it's not enough." He huffs. "I'm too stubborn for my own good. He nearly lost me you know? And for what? Because I didn't want to play by the rules. If I die, he's going to be all alone. In this hell hole." Dean shakes his head angrily. "What kind of brother would I be then? A fucking lousy one." 

Castiel is confused. Is Dean blaming himself for what happened with Alastair? For standing up for himself? That's ridiculous. The home, the prostitution, the beating and raping are not Dean's fault. In fact, if Dean wants to blame someone, he should blame it on him. But before he could say anything, though Dean takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. 

"Ah, what do you care about my problems right? We all lived here. Hell, you've been here three months, am I right?" When he nods, Dean makes a 'There you go' gesture before continuing. "You've been living this crap for three months, and here I am whining to you of all people." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Cas."

"Dean, please don't apologise. You have nothing to be sorry for." Castiel looks away, guilty. The person who should be sorry is him. He should say so, tell Dean but his courage fails him. He's a coward. Swallowing hard, he nods towards one of the shower stalls. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Oh! Okay. Umm, I'll leave you to it." Dean turns around, exiting the room with a small wave of his hand. Feeling weary, Castiel walks towards the last stall. As he's hanging his towel on the hook by the shower's door, Dean stumbles back in. "Hey, Cas? Oh." When he looks up at the entrance, he sees Dean's head peeking around the corner, red as a tomato, his eyes looking everywhere but at Castiel. 

"You're naked," Dean states.

Castiel can't help it, he laughs. "Dean, it's not like you haven't seen me naked before. And after last night..." He lets his voice trails off as memories of their time last night returns with a vengeance. Suddenly, the room feels a little too warm, stifling. And he feels an odd need to cover himself.

"Yeah well," Dean's still deliberately not looking at him, eyes flicking in the vicinity around Castiel before settling on a spot on the floor a few feet in front of him. He clears his throat before continuing. "Um, about last night, I just want to say that I'm really sorry. I hope you can find it in you to somehow forgive me for what I did. I didn't have a choice, and I know that's a shit excuse but I-"

"Dean," Castiel stops him before he can ramble further. "It's okay. I consented."

Dean is still shaking his head, "That's dubious at best and that doesn't make it right, I-"

"Dean, really. It's okay. If you're determined to apologize then I should to. You didn't consent to that." 

"Yeah but I'm the one who-" Dean makes a vague gesture with his hands to which Castiel gives him an unimpressed look. 

"It doesn't matter who penetrates who." Dean grimaces at Castiel's phrasing. "Nonconsensual sex is still nonconsensual. But just so you know, you made it feel like- you made it feel good. I'm sorry, that crosses the line and I've made you uncomfortable," he rushes to continue, face red.

Dean is staring up at him, eyes wide. "Really?" he whispers. Castiel tilts his head, not understanding. "That it felt good?"

His face feels warm as he nods. Dean breaks out into a slow smile. It's like watching the sun rise. The smile starts at the corner of his mouth before reaching his eyes, making them sparkles as crinkles begin to form at the corners. His breaths hitch. Dean is beautiful. The sort of beauty that radiates warmth and gentleness. How had he never noticed it before? 

"Is it wrong of me to say that I enjoyed it too?" Dean asked softly. 

Smiling, he shakes his head, "I'm glad."

"Me too."

They stare at each other, both with a stupid smile on their face. He doesn't know how long he'd been standing there naked, having this impromptu staring contest with Dean when the sound of a rumbling stomach draws both their attention back to the present. Dean blushes. He does that a lot. Castiel wonders if he's the reason for Dean's sudden shyness. He secretly hopes so.

"Hah... That reminds me. I was going to ask if you would umm... if you like, maybe we could have lunch together after you showered?" Dean blurts. He says the last part fast like he is afraid he is going to lose his nerve if he doesn't. "Maybe hang out a little?" His eyes look hopeful as he continues. "I would like to get to know you, Cas."

Heat prickles his eyes. He swallows, trying hard not to choke up. He must be more pathetic than he realizes to get so emotional because... What? Because someone wants to spend time with him? To do something normal people do like eating and talking instead of come in, fucks and leaves. It's only been three months, but he has already forgotten what it feels like to be treated with common courtesy.

"I'd like that," Castiel says, voice wobbly, smiling at Dean from under his lashes. "I'd like to know you too, Dean."

Dean grins wide, vibrating in place. "Awesome. Just come and get me when you're done. I'll be in my room."

He nods and then Dean is gone. He steps into the stall and turns on the showers, turning his face up towards the spray. The warm water beat down onto his head and body. As he reaches for the body wash, he realizes he's smiling. Even the throbbing pain between his ass cheek couldn't dim the lightness in his heart one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart: [Falling](http://trenchcoatandimpala.tumblr.com/post/145113003493/its-a-terrible-life-lucifer-is-a-man-with-a)


	5. Chapter 5

Lucifer splashes cold water on his face, eyes closed as he scrubs his hands over the rough scruff lining his jaw. He opens his eyes and rests his palms on the sink, looking up into the cracked glass above it. Cold blue eyes stare back at him. Droplet of water roll off his eyelashes. A steady drip echoes in the bathroom. His reflection is calm and quiet, staring back at him like he's an interesting specimen. A polite, professional curiosity. 

How could he look so calm when inside he is a whirlpool of emotions? Anger. Fiery red lashes at his insides, burning him up with rage. He wants to rip, tear and slash everything apart. But there's also pain. Overwhelming hurt and despair. It feels like his heart caved in on itself, leaving a black hole in its place. He watches his reflection as he brings a hand up to the tattoo on his chest. He brushes his pointer finger down the flaming blade, stopping at the hilt, pressing at the hidden wound there. 

He had lost it, he knows. Waking up with that recurring nightmare has left him _needing_. He needed to inflict the pain he felt. All that anguish pointing inwards will drive him insane. He needed to lash out. Preferably at the person who had caused it. Steel blue eyes. Charcoal black hair. He sighs, hand dropping back onto the sink as he lets his head drop. He had hurt Castiel this morning. The person who least deserved it. 

Castiel who ha been nothing but good to him. He had exceeded all expectation. Had followed every one of his requests with wide sad eyes. He isn't blind. He knows how Castiel feels for him. In fact, he might have encouraged it in the beginning. Helped molded him into who and what he is today. A submissive. He doesn't know why he's being exceptionally cruel to Castiel. Why he toyed with his feelings or played with his emotion. And why he's felt inexplicitly drawn to him when he felt the need to hurt. 

He knows it's wrong to take Castiel as a surrogate for his rage and pain. It had occurred to him that he might be hurting Castiel with his careless words and behavior. His hot and cold treatment. But what happened this morning is ten times worse. He had deliberately gone to Castiel to hurt him, to see the pain in his eyes. His cries and pleas to stop just served to fuel the fire inside him.

He had pinned him down hard enough to bruise and pushed his cock into his unprepared hole with the sole intention to cause as much pain as possible. He had enjoyed every groan of pain he'd wrenched from Castiel, watched mesmerized as he slammed his cock into him again and again knowing that each penetration hurts as much as the last one. He had come knowing that Castiel's body is shutting down from the pain. 

He scrubs a hand over his face. He feels tired but when he looks back at his reflection in the mirror, all he sees is his impeccable, perfect self. He should start a career in poker, he thinks. He would succeed. Cocking his head at himself, he decides that he is going to apologize. 

\---

Castiel pulls on a pair of light blue jeans and a simple gray t-shirt before he pads out barefooted to the homes' shared kitchen slash dining room. He had decided to make peanut butter and jam sandwiches for Dean and on second thought, Sam as well so that they could eat outside. Spring had just started. The sun is shining, and the air is fresh. He wants to make use of the day before he's needed back inside. Since it's a Sunday, the slowest day of the week, he hopes will get away with just one or two fucks. 

Knowing the school week's ahead is enough to brighten him up. He likes school. Being able to focus on something other than his current situation is a relief. School nights also means that he has to walk the streets with the others; the working prostitutes. He does that every Monday to Wednesday. On Thursday and Friday, he'll be placed in a motel room for bookings that had been made during the week while Saturday is reserved for Lucifer's 'friends'. Of course, there had been that one Friday where he was sent to the bench.

The 'bench' is a method thought by Alastair to 'help' keep them in line. It functions as a punishment technique. For clients who aren't able to afford the rate of a session, they get offered the bench. It's held every Friday night and with $15, each client has 10-15 minutes with whoever it was strapped to the bench. It's an effective way to break a person's psyche. It's extremely dehumanizing and the number of clients a night can mount up to the low forties. It is a win-win according to Alastair. They get to earn some money while having people to fuck them into submission.

He was never called for bench duty. But he guessed there's a first time for everything. Lucifer had already rounded up about thirty confirmed clients. Most of them were construction workers working on the building a few blocks down. Unfortunately for him, Anna and Tessa had been behaving that week and strapping them to the bench would be counter productive to the reward and punishment system they had going on. The only choice left was him. 

His heart sunk when Lucifer brought him down to the basement Friday night. He had kept quiet while Lucifer stripped him down and positioned him on the bench, stomach flat against the padded seat on his hands and knees as he secured the straps around his wrists and ankles. Then, Lucifer had knelt in front of him and stroked his cheek, before leaning in and pressed a soft kiss on his lips. When he pulled away, he whispered, "Just say the word and I'll release you." 

There was a long pause but then Castiel had shaken his head. If it's not him, it would be someone else. Better him than someone else. With that, Lucifer stood and walked up the stairs, leaving him alone, heart thudding as he waited. After that, he was just an object to be used. The night dragged on in a haze of pain and humiliation and after the fifth person to use him, Castiel lets himself drift off. The only thing keeping him together was the mantra he kept repeating in his mind. Better him than someone else.

He didn't know how long it was before he felt someone unstrapped him. Lucifer's face swam into view. His expression is unreadable, and moments later, he'd passed out in his arms. The days after that Lucifer had been caring and attentive. He drove him to and from school, made him lunch and peppered him with affection. They even shared a bed a few nights in a row. He had been happy to get whatever Lucifer's willing to offer and that few days were one of the best. 

He's not delusional. He knows that what they have is not what people would call a 'healthy' relationship. For one, you don't trade your boyfriend for favors nor do you pimp him out for money. If he's going to be brutally honest with himself, he would say that what they have is a business relationship. A pimp and his whore. But there are times when Lucifer would act a certain way, do a certain thing that makes him doubts, makes him feel. It's no secret that Lucifer treats Castiel differently from the others. That must mean something. Sometimes, just knowing that is enough. 

He stops short when he walks into the kitchen. Anna is making sandwiches at the kitchen counter, slender fingers firm around the butter knife. She looks demure with her fiery red curls cascading down her shoulder over her lacy white blouse. She is pale but not the kind that alludes to sickness or from being inside too much but the kind that glows with a sort of radiance. Angelic and pure.

Somehow, the sight made him feel sadder, knowing what he knows. They're all far from innocent, Castiel more so than the others but it had been a month now since the rest were forced into the scene. Anna looks up, sensing someone else in the room with her. Her large almond-shaped eyes fall on him. It's the first time he's seen her in weeks. He had been painstakingly avoiding the others and vice versa, unable to face any of them after what happened.

"Castiel," she greets, nodding in acknowledgment. 

"Anna," he returns. He debates turning around and come back later but that would be weird. So he steels himself and rounds the kitchen counter, brushing past Anna as he reaches for the top cupboard to pull out three plates and a bread knife. He places them on the counter and asks, "Do you mind?" He gestures at the opened loaf of bread and the various spreads littering the table. 

"No, go ahead."

He nods and starts preparing the sandwiches. The atmosphere in the kitchen is tensed with unsaid words, the silence almost overbearing. In a normal social setting, Castiel already found himself sufficiently lacking. He's awkward and out of tuned, more often than not missing out on visual and verbal social cues. It's safe to say that he has no idea what to do in a situation like this. He is about to blurt out something, anything to get rid of the uncomfortable silence when Anna speaks.

"Why do you have three plates?"

"Oh. I'm eating lunch with Sam and Dean."

"Oh."

He nods again as he busies himself with the sandwiches. Anna puts the knife down, and he hopes she'll leave so that he can breathe properly again, but she doesn't move. Instead, she fusses around her sandwiches, brushing invisible crumbs off her plate. When he's done and is about to store the bread and spreads, Anna blurts. "Thank you."

He stills, stunned by the sudden declaration, peanut butter jar in one hand and jelly in the other. "What for?" he asks, surprised. 

"You took the bench," she says, not in the form of a question, more like a statement. She's staring at him, eyes wide and wondering. "Why?"

Feeling like a deer caught in headlights, he shrugs. A lump has formed itself in his throat. He doesn't trust himself to speak. Anna continues to stare at him, as if trying to read him, expression curious. Then, as if a mask has been removed, her impassive demeanor shatters and in its place is pure raw vulnerability.

"If you hadn't, it would have been me." Her voice is wobbly as if she's about to cry. "They did it to me once and I-" She starts to tremble, hands coming up to hug herself tight.

"Anna..." he says completely at loss. He doesn't know what to do or say to that. He feels like he should comfort her but he doesn't know how. Maybe a hug? But then he's afraid his touch would be unwelcomed. 

"You could have said no. You didn't."

He quiets at that. Anna steps closer and takes the peanut butter out of his hand, placing it on the table. Then, taking his hand in hers, she gives it a squeeze. "Thank you," she murmurs as she fixes him with wide sincere eyes. His eyes burn as he stares down at their hands, the two words ringing in his ears. He had always bent over backward for others, but never has he had anyone acknowledging his efforts before, let alone thanking him for it.

It's overwhelming, to hear those words from someone he thought hated him. There's genuine gratitude behind her shaky admission. Feeling his emotions running amok, he nods once before rushing to store the spreads, not looking at Anna as he did so. Then he grabs the three plates, balancing them carefully on his hands and flees the kitchen. 

Before he exits, though he stops. With his back to Anna, he says in a soft but raw voice, "Thank you, Anna."

"What for?"

He turns around then, eyes brimming with unshed tears. "No one has ever thanked me before. Thank you for telling me."

Anna looks surprised but then her lips curl up into a smile. "You're welcome."

Castiel returns her smile before he turns around, heart feeling lighter than it had been in days. There's a new bounce in his steps as he makes his way towards Dean's room. Maybe today isn't going to be so bad after all.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean walks back to his room with what he know is his goofy smile on his face. The one he got when Sam did something particularly adorable. Like fart and be crazy embarrassed about it. Or when he had an apple pie and it felt like a mini orgasm in his mouth. Now though, it seems like just talking to Castiel gets him all stupid and googly eyes. 

God, he had it bad. But he couldn't bring himself to give a single fuck. Yes, he crushing hard on Castiel and damn everything to hell, but he's going to enjoy every single flutter in his belly, every stutter of his heart and goddamit, he'll even enjoy the blood rushing to his face. Or better yet, down south. Heh... 

"Dean, your face looks funny," Sam's childlike voice filters through his less than PG18 thoughts. Dean snaps out of his daydream, blinking when he realizes where he is. Sam is lying on his stomach on his bed, looking up at him with furrowed eyebrows. Then, as if reaching some sort of conclusion to a scientific experiment, he announces. "You look dumb." 

"You shut your face," he retorts playfully as he jumps into bed. "Or I'll do it for you!" He grabs at Sam's face and starts squishing his little cheek together with his fingers and thumb. Sam cries out in protest and tries to bat his hands away. Laughing at his abysmal effort, he starts tickling Sam little body as he screams bloody murder, writhing around the bed struggling to get away. 

When he finally stops, Sam's face had turned a deep shade of red from laughing so hard. "Serves you right smartass," he huffs, grinning from ear to ear as Sam tries to catch his breath. He's wearing a massive pout as he swats at Dean's hands still looming threateningly at his sides. 

"You jerk!" Sam shrieks once he's got onto his hands and knees, glaring daggers at Dean. "That is so unfair!"

"That's what happens when you try to be a pain in the ass to someone who's 11 years older than you, Sammy. Lesson learnt." He chuckles as he flops back on the bed. Still breathless, Sam falls onto his ass, sitting cross-legged across from Dean. 

"You just wait until I get older, Dean. Revenge is sweet." Sam puts on his most threatening face, all squinty eyes and pouty lips which would look impressive if it wasn't for the baby fat, rounding out his face. He cocks on eyebrows and raises a hand to ruffle Sam's hair, earning a swat and another bitch face in return. 

Damn, he needs to give Sam a haircut one of these days. He's looking like one of those shaggy dogs with dark brown hair flopping over his eyes like that. Sam's going to put up one hell of a fight. He never did like getting his hair cut. Unlike Dean who loves to keep his dirty blonde hair short, just enough to cover his forehead if he weren't to style it up like he usually does. 

Sam picks up his book from the floor and crawls up towards the headboard. He leans back against it and pulls his knees up, raising the book just enough to cover his face. Dean frowns. Thinking that Sam's mad, he tugs on the cuff of his jeans. 

"Hey, you ok?" 

Sam is silent behind his book. Concerned, he turns over to lies on his stomach and reaches up to pull the book down. Sam isn't looking at Dean but down at his book, biting his bottom lips and looking for all the world like he got caught with his hands in a cookie jar. Worried now, he sits up, shuffling a little so that he's facing Sam and places a finger under his chin. He tilts his little face up.

"Hey buddy, what's wrong? I didn't hurt you, did I?" Sam shakes his head. "Okay. Then, is something bothering you?" Sam shakes his head again but after awhile, he nods. Huffing at his nonresponse, he prods. "What is it? You can tell me anything. You know that right, Sammy?"

After a long moment, Sam raises his eyes to meet his, still worrying his bottom lip. "You weren't here last night."

His heart clenched at how small Sam sounds. "Sammy... Hey, you know if I could, I would rather be here with you. Tuck you nice and warm in bed. Read you one of your girly bedtime stories. But sometimes, I have to work and I need you to be a big boy when I'm gone, okay?"

Sam shakes his head. "No, I can be a big boy, I promise!" Dean smiles at that. But Sam still looks nervous, lips red from all the biting. 

"Hey, cut that out," he says softly, tapping Sam's bottom lips until it springs free. 

"Were you in the basement last night, Dean?" Sam asks, voice so soft that if he wasn't sitting as close to Sam as he is, he would have missed it. Unfortunately for him, he'd heard it, clear as day. Icy dread fills him as he gazes into Sam's hazel eyes. The basement. 

Why is he asking about the basement? His heart hammers against his chest, thudding loudly in his ears. There's a haunted look in Sam's eyes that scares him. No, that can't be it. He can't have- he's not allowed down there. That's just not possible. Stop freaking out. Faking a calm he doesn't feel, he answers. "No, Sammy. I wasn't."

Sam nods, eyes flitting down. 

"Why do you ask?" Dean tries to sounds casual. Like he isn't on the brink of a nervous breakdown right now. 

Without looking up, Sam mumbles down at his chest. "I saw you." 

Dean's not sure if he's heard that correctly, but his heart stills nevertheless. Feeling cold all over, he asks, voice gruff. "What do you mean you saw me?"

"There's a place I like to read. Behind the heater in the basement. I know Lucifer said not to go down there, but it was so cold that day! I swear, I didn't mean to fall asleep!" Feeling his heart lodged in his throat, Dean nods and waits for Sam to continue. But he begins to worry his bottom lip again, not looking at Dean. 

"Sam?"

Sam doesn't look up, instead he starts plucking at the hem of his shirt, hiding his face. Fear unlike anything he felt before courses through him, chilling him to the bones. He forces himself to ask, "What did you see?"

"I saw you, Dean. You're not wearing any clothes and you're tied down to some kind of table or chair, I don't know I can't really see. I wanted to come out, I swear! But then the men came down and I got scared so I hid again."

It's like being transported back in time. Dean's in the basement, strapped to the bench with Alastair breathing down his face. He can almost smell his putrid breath mixed in with the stale air of the basement. Sweat beads at his back and forehead. He was sweaty then too, the humidity clinging to his skin. Alastair's voice booms in his ears.

"I ask you one last time, will you or will you not call me Master?"

"Go to hell you sick bastard."

"Very well, you asked for this. I don't suppose you need me to explain what's going to happen here?"

Dean spits in his face and bites out, "Do your worst."

That man did. His world became a blur of fits and screams. He remembered screaming that he'll bite their cock off if they dared stuffed it in his mouth. Not like it mattered. Alastair gagged him with a rag as his men tore into his ass mercilessly until he's nothing but one big throb of pain. Bile rises in his throat as he pictures Sam hiding behind the heater, watching as the horror show continues.

He doesn't know what to say. What the hell can he even say to that? Please for the love of god forget what you saw down in the basement? Shit. He doesn't know what to do. There must be some adult way in dealing with this, but Dean has absolutely no fucking clue. He doesn't even know how much Sam had seen or understand. He's only six for Christ sake! He doesn't have to explain about the birds and bees until much later and this isn't even remotely close! Jesus. 

This is the last thing Dean wants to do but dammit, he has got to know. "Sam, what did you think happened down in the basement?"

Sam looks up at Dean with wide scared eyes. "They were hurting you."

Dean nods, green eyes boring into Sam's hazel ones.

"There were so many men, Dean. And they're all surrounding you," Sam whispers. "You were screaming." Dean nods again, clenching his jaw. "I wanted to go to you, Dean I really did, but I was so scared. I ran. I'm sorry!" Sam bursts into tears, grabbing the front of his shirt by the collar and pulls it over his head, hiding his face in the material. Dean doesn't even realizes that he'd been holding his breath until the moment it rushes out of his lungs. He is so relieved he can feel his whole body sags with it. "I'm sorry I ran. I left you there, I'm sowwy!"

Dean takes a deep breath and lets it out slow and steady. He moves towards the boy, pulling the shirt down and wraps his arms around him, hugging him tight. Nuzzling his face in his hair, he murmurs. "Don't apologize, Sam. I'm glad you ran. There's nothing you can do. You did the right thing." When Sam continues to sob into his chest, he adds. "How did you ran anyway? They're bound to see you." His heart rate spikes, wondering if Sam _did_ manage to avoid detection. He pushes Sam back, leveling his eyes on him. "How did you escape?" 

"In the corner near the heater, there's this staircase. I ran up and there's something that looks like a door but it open upwards. I came out into the backyard." Dean frowns trying to remember. He recalls seeing a trapdoor at the back of the house, but he always thought it was locked. "I went to Anna and told her what happened. But all she did was took me to her room and held me. I didn't know what to do, I was so scared." 

Sam looks down, his lips starts to wobble as fresh tears pour down his face. "She said everything was going to be okay but she was lying! You were hurt bad. There's blood everywhere and you weren't responding. Lucifer took you away and you didn't came back! No one will tell me anything! I thought I lost you, Dean. Like I did Mom!" Sam grabs him around the neck, face planting into his shoulder. "I'll never leave you again, Dean! I'm promise!"

Dean's sucked back into that night again. He was filthy and half out of his mind with pain and degradation. The last of the men were finishing, pulling up their pants as they left, leaving him alone with Alastair. The screech of the chair as he stood grates his ears. He will never forget the next words that came out of Alastair's mouth. 

"I heard you have a little brother. What's his name? Sam? How would little Sammy like to call me Master, since his older brother is too stubborn to. He's upstairs now, isn't he?"

"You stay the fuck away from him," he spits. Exhaustion tears at the edge of his mind but the clarity of Alastair's words brought him back from the dull haze he falls into.

"Call me Master, Dean."

He felt like crying, the tears stinging his eyes. Tears of frustration and anger. Anger at himself and anger at the unfairness of it all. It had taken him everything to summon the indignity to spit the word out. It's not the word itself that's so hard to say, but what it signify. If he do this, he'll be Alastair's bitch. For real. But this is Sam, his little brother whom he vowed to protect. So he broke. 

Alastair smiled victoriously as he pulled out his belt. "Let's see how good you can be for your Master, Dean. You're going to take every blow and you're going to count with me."

The belt rained down on his back without mercy, stripping his back bloody and raw. He had screamed himself hoarse, voice guttural as he yelled out the number with each strike. When the pain became too much and his back is just one burning throb, he passed out. He had woken up in Gadreel's house and had stayed there for four days, lying flat on his stomach, unable to move. He hadn't realizes that Sam saw him, bleeding and unconscious. That must have scared the hell out of him.

He hugs Sam even harder, pulling him close to his body. He had failed Sam. Again. Guilt spreads like fireflies throughout his body, swarming him with a familiar sense of disappointment. He can picture the look on his dad's face. How is he ever going to make this right? "I'm sorry, Sammy I didn't know. I'm so sorry you had to go through all that. But do you know what the most important thing is?" 

Sam shakes his head, sniffling as he pulls back, staring up at Dean with wide tearful eyes. He hates seeing Sam cries. Sam is only a kid, but he acts older than his 6 years of age, forced to grow up too fast by circumstances. They both were. He rarely cries. And when he does, it's because he's sad dad is leaving again. But he always sucks his bottom lips in and tries to be brave for Dean. As a child, he never whines or complains. Instead, he does all he can to make Dean's job easier. Guilty tears prick at his eyes as he swipes his thumb over the tear tracks on Sam's chubby face.

"The most important thing to know is that I came out of it okay. I'm still here. Nothing is going to take me away from you, Sammy. I swear as long as I live, I will never abandon you. You're not getting rid of me that easily." He gives Sam a small smile and ruffles his hair. He knows they both have a bad case of abandonment issues, Sam more so than Dean. He never got the chance to know what home life feels like. Had been on the road from the beginning. Really, he only had Dean. 

Sam sniffs not even bothering to pull his head away. Then, in a soft voice, he asks. "You promise?" He nods, echoing Sam's words. "I promise." Sam gives him a wide watery smile. "I promise I will never leave you too. I'm going to be brave. I want to protect you, like how you protected me," Sam says, determined. Dean wraps his arms around Sam's body, holding him close. 

"You do, buddy. You do," he whispers into his hair. The funny thing is, Dean relies on Sam as much as Sam relies on him. Without Sam, he doesn't know if he's able to deal with what has happened. He still has nightmare of that night, and he's sure plenty more where that come from. The only thing holding him together is the fact that Sam needs him and he can't afford to fall apart. So he pieces himself together and pushes down the hurt and pain until they become a numb spot at the back of his mind. He tries not to think about it. He needs to stay strong. If not for himself, for Sam. "It's you and me against the world right?"

At that, Sam pulls back and nods furiously. "Yeah, Dean. You and me against the world! We're going to beat the bad guys!"

Dean laughs. "You bet!"

Smiling, Sam lands a wet kiss on his cheek. He pretends to be disgusted by it, wiping it away with a scowl on his face. He tries to ruffle Sam's hair again but is denied this time, a full on bitch face directed at him. Sam plops onto his stomach and reaches for his book. As Dean watches him flips through the pages, he can't help the soft sigh that escapes him. He lies down on his back, hands behind his head and stares up at the ceiling. Sam had been holding all that in for almost a week and he hadn't noticed a fucking thing. Granted, he'd only been back a couple of days, but still. He closes his eyes, thanking whatever God up there that might be listening for small mercies. Grateful that Sam hadn't witnessed anything too damaging. 

"Dean?"

"Hmm?" 

"Is my boy part going to be as big as those men when I grow up?"

Sam's question hits him like a slap to the face. He bolts upright so fast he feels his head spins. "What?" he splutters.

With these huge round innocent eyes, Sam expresses, "They are so big..." His eyes widen as he emphasizes on the 'big' as through trying to convey the hugeness of the penises by how wide his eyes can grow. 

He stares at Sam blankly pretty sure with his mouth agape. Say something, idiot! Do something! Blink! He blinks, once. Then rapidly like an incapacitated person trying to converse in Morse code. "Wha-?" He chokes out in a high-pitched voice he will forever deny ever having come out of his throat. He coughs then tries again, voice still a decibel higher "Who cares?!"

Frowning in contemplation, Sam concludes. "They look uncomfortable." Then, he eyes his crotch as if to gauge how Dean manages to stuff his 'big' penis in his jeans and still be comfortable. He blushes all the way up to his ears, grabs at the nearest pillow and covers his groin. 

"Hey! Eyes off the family jewel!"

Sam shrugs. "I'm just curious. Why would penises grow so big anyway? It just looks dumb." And with that, Sam goes back to his book, leaving Dean to stew in his own mortification. Oh god, what did he do to deserves this? He falls back onto the bed, bringing the pillow up to cover his face as he lets out a _Why me?_ groan when there's knock at the door. Springing up, glad for the distraction, he bounces off the bed. When he sees who's at the door, his face breaks into a wide smile.

"Heyya, Cas."

"Hello, Dean. I made some peanut butter sandwiches. Would you like to eat them outside? The weather seems nice." Castiel gestures to the plates he has balanced precariously in his hands. "I've made some for Sam too."

"You heard that? Cas made us sandwiches. Isn't he great?" He turns around and waggles his eyebrows at Sam. Ignoring him in favor of smiling at Castiel, Sam enthuses. "Thank you, Cas. Peanut butter sandwiches are my favorite!"

Castiel smiles, eyes twinkling. "You're very welcome. Do you want to come outside to eat with us?"

Sam scrunches up his nose, deliberating before nodding. "Sure! Can I bring my book along, Dean?" Sam asked, sitting up with his book hugged to his chest. 

"Of course, buddy. Here, let me grab your sandwich before Cas here drops it." He winks at Castiel, grabbing two plates from him. "Let's go!" Castiel just smiles at him, shaking his head. Probably thinking he's a dork. Not that he minds. As long as he get Castiel to keep smiling like that, he can be the dorkiest person alive. 

As they step out into the sunlight, Sam runs ahead, heading for the patch of grass by a large oak tree. The early afternoon air is crisp but the glow of the sun keeps them warm. He lifts his head up towards the sun, closing his eyes and just enjoy the moment. When he turns to his side, he notices Castiel doing the same, his profile sharp against the sun, exposing his long neck. 

Dean stares and knows that he's staring but he couldn't help it. Castiel looks gorgeous like this. His mop of dark hair is thick and messy on his head, still damp from his shower earlier. He has his eyes closed, dark eyelashes fluttering against his high cheekbone. His soft pink lips curl at the corner, a phantom of a smile on his face. There's a light scruff shadowing those defined jawlines. Castiel is breathtaking. Dean gulps. He is so screwed. 

Castiel lets out a soft sigh and opens his eyes, turning to look at Dean. They lock eyes for a while before Castiel smiles and ducks his head. "Is there something on my face?"

"Huh? What! No!" he blurts, feeling his face heating up.

"You were staring." 

"Oh. Umm... You just-" Look so beautiful I want to wrap you up in my arms and kiss you silly. God, even his inner monologues are shot to hell. "You just look peaceful. It's a good look on you," he ends up saying, smiling as he realizes that it's true. 

Castiel blushes a light pink shade, eyes widening slightly. "Thank you."

Dean shrugs. "You're welcome I guess? I'm just telling it how I see it."

Smiling softly, Castiel looks up at the sky again, his blue eyes squinting in the sunlight. "I love nature. It is one of those things that are beautiful just by existing. I love how the sunlight feels on my skin, the smell of fresh air in my lungs, the way the grass tickles when I lay down on it. I love the sea too, especially the rough ones. The deafening roar of the waves; you can almost taste the salt in the air." 

"My personal favorite? The rain. I used to watch it from my window. Watched as the world blurred. And when it's over, it leaves everything feeling clean, the grounds, the leaves a darker color. When it storms and you hear the clap of thunder and sees the flash of lightning, it makes me realize how small and insignificant I am. Not that it's a bad thing. It gives me a different perspective. It makes me feel humbled. like whatever's been bugging me seems trivial." 

Pausing, Castiel turns away from the sun back at him. "I'm not a fan of the cold though, but I do appreciate the winter and what they brings. Hot chocolates, warms meals, fluffy blankets, family festivities..." Castiel lets his sentences hang, eyes glazed over as if seeing someting only he could see. A memory.

Dean stares for a moment before letting out a small huff. "You're such an old man, Cas." He says shaking his head. Castiel shrugs. 

"You said you wanted to know me. This is me."

He smirks. "I like the old man version of you. Sounds cozy. Next time it rains, we're going make ourselves a make shift blanket fort and watches the sky weeps. That's a date," he promises, winking as he turns around and joins Sam on the grass under the sun. His heart beats a little faster when Castiel follows close behind. 

Joints still tired and stiff from last night, he eases himself down. Lucky for them, the grass is thick and cushiony but Castiel winces all the same as he settles, crosslegged in front of him. He tactfully avoid asking about it because yeah, what is he supposed to say? Are you okay? Of course he's not okay. 

Last night was brutal for Castiel, not to mention the fiasco this morning. He doesn't want to ruin the relax mood they have settled into. Taking a huge bite of his peanut butter sandwich, he lets out a pornstar worthy moan. He hadn't realizes he was _that_ hungry. This is the best damn sandwich he has ever ate! 

"God, Cas..." he moans. "How do you do it? How do you make a peanut butter jelly sandwich tastes this good?" He gushes with his mouth full.

"You'll have to excuse my caveman of a brother, Cas. Dean, shut your mouth when you're chewing." Sam sighs as if the weight of the world is on his shoulder. For a six year old, Sam can sure sass. He's going to be one sarcastic motherfucker when he grows older. Being the mature person that he is, Dean chews some more before opening his mouth wide and sticks his tongue out.

"Ewww, Dean! Gross!" Sam flinches from the sight, nose scrunching up in disgust.

Hah! Serves the little monster right. He grins, mouth wide when he catches Castiel's face. Blood zings to his face and he almost bites his tongue off in his rush to close his mouth. Castiel is staring at him with an expression that is half horrifed, half scandalized and maybe a little amusement thrown into the mix. Then, he bursts into laughter. Genuine unadulterated laughter, the kind that get Castiel's shoulders shaking and his hands coming up to wipe at his eyes. 

The low baritone of his laughs stirs something low in Dean's gut but he ignores them to stare unabashedly at Castiel's face, full with mirth and joy. Castiel should laugh more. That's definitely a good look on him, his favorite by far. Of course, his brain chooses that moment to supply a full HD play by play video of Castiel's 'O' face from last night. He tells his brain to shut up. 

"Dean..." Castiel gasps, wiping tears from his eyes "I have pegged you for many things, but childish is certainly not one of them." His laughs has dwindle down to a chuckle. "Though I must say, half-eaten peanut butter jelly sandwich is not a good look on you," he grins, eyes fond. 

"Thank you," Sam pipes up.

"Shut up. Everything looks good on me," he pouts, biting a little harder than necessary into his sandwich.

"Is that so?" Castiel cocks one eyebrow up, challenging and something like fuck- 

Dean almost chokes on his sandwich. Only managing to swallow it down the right channel at the last minute. Is that heat he sees in Castiel's eyes? A sparkle of mischief hiding underneath the blue surface? Oh jesus on a tricycle, _is Castiel flirting with him?_ He's not reading this wrong, is he? The thought that Castiel may be interested in him _that_ way makes the butterflies in his stomach go frenzy. 

He tries to come up with a witty reply but is distracted by a pair of jeans clad legs stepping into his periphery vision. Before he could say anything else, Lucifer plops down to sit crosslegged between them, forming a small circle. He blinks, before his expression hardens, spiteful words at the tip of his tongue.

"Cool your jets, Dean. I'm here to apologize." With that, Lucifer turns his attention to Castiel, who is now looking at him with too blue, too trusting eyes.

"Damn right you do," he bites out. Don't get him wrong, he's glad that Lucifer is at least going to apologize but the memory of Castiel writhing in pain is still too fresh and he has half a mind to ask Lucifer to take his apology and shove it up his ass. Whatever. He can be mature about this. Castiel deserves to hear the apology even if it doesn't mean shit. This has nothing to do with the sudden stab he feels at the way Castiel is looking at Lucifer. Nope. Not at all. 

"Cassie, I want to apologize for my behavior this morning. I know I've hurt you and for that, I'm truly sorry."

Good god, 'behavior'? He fucking raped him! How is it possible for Lucifer to make an apology sound so impassive? It's safe to say Dean's not a big fan of these kind of talks, avoid them like the plague mostly. The thought of baring himself at the mercy of someone else, being made vulnerable makes him squirm. But looking at Lucifer, he may as well be talking about the weather. He seethes to himself, hoping that Castiel would make Lucifer grovels for a little while before even considering to forgive him. At the very least.

But then Castiel smiles, a small smile but genuine nonetheless and nods. The bottom of his stomach falls as Lucifer lays his hand on top of Castiel's and squeezes. His stomach churns something ugly as he watches the two of them having eyesex while he sits there, third wheeling. 

"You're so good for me, Cassie."

Castiel ducks his head, eyes flickering down as if embarrassed. Then, he surreptitiously sneaks a peek up at him from under his mop of hair. When their eyes meet, Castiel's quick to divert his eyes down again, face pink.

"Before I go, Dean-" Lucifer addresses him. "You'll have company tonight. Eight sharp. Be prepared." Flicking a look towards Sam, who is trying hard to pretend that he is reading but is quite obviously not, Lucifer continues. "You can use Castiel's room. He won't be back until ten." 

At this Castiel snaps his head up. Before he has the opportunity to open his mouth, Dean snaps, "Cmon man, give Cas a break. I don't think he's fit for anything else tonight." Knowing it's futile to try and negotiate with Lucifer, he adds, "I'll take his load."

Castiel turns wide shocked eyes at him. He avoids looking at Castiel, opting instead to face down Lucifer who is looking at him in a calculating manner, tapping his pointer finger against his bottom lip. Lucifer doesn't say anything and the longer he stays silent, the more uncomfortable he feels. His hands itch to move, to do something. 

"I must say I'm surprise, Dean. Never thought I would see the day when you'd volunteer willingly. Whatever Alastair did, it must be working." At the mention of Alastair name's, Castiel flinches. Oblivious, Lucifer continues. "Although I appreciate your concern for Castiel's well being, unfortunately it's a specific request only he'll be able to fulfill." That means whoever the client was, they had requested Castiel specifically. "But even I am not that cruel." Lucifer turns to look at Castiel, adding, "You'll be seeing Chastity."

It doesn't seem like this Chastity is a somehow better alternative because Castiel's eyes dimmed. It is subtle, but he noticed. Without another word, Lucifer stands up. He pats the back of his jeans before throwing an "Enjoy your lunch," over his shoulder and walks back inside. That leaves the three of them alone in an awkward silence which is made even more awkward by Castiel, who is staring intently at him, eyes unblinking. Planning on ignoring him, he grabs his sandwich and resumes eating. But it looks like Castiel can be pretty stubborn when he wants to. 

_"What?"_ he snaps, unable to ignore the burning heat of Castiel's gaze anymore. 

"Dean, why-"

"Cas, you're hurt okay?" he argues. "Don't bother denying it." He holds a hand up to curb any of Castiel's protests. 

"But that doesn't mean that you should offer yourself up! That is stupid and reckless and you know it. You don't even know who you're offering yourself up to! What if-"

"It doesn't matter," he says, looking away. It hurts. He doesn't know why it hurts, but it does. It hurts that Castiel keeps rejecting him. Tears starts to prick at his eyes and he swallows to stop them from overflowing. 

"Dean..." Suddenly Castiel is right in front of him, blue eyes pleading. "Why don't you get that I don't want to see you get hurt too?" he says, softly. Castiel is close. Too close. So close that they're sharing breaths. He could feel the warm puff of Castiel's exhales on his skin. They stare at each other, gaze intent with too many feelings when a lawnmower roars in a distance, jolting them both. Castiel blinks, pulling back. "I appreciate your concern, Dean but please... don't put yourself at risk for my sake. I don't deserve that."

Now, that just pissed him off. "Then what the hell do you deserve, Cas? Some asshole who treats you like crap? Tell me. Explain it to me. Because hell if I understand. Nobody deserves this." Castiel sighs. His eyes flick over to Sam who is watching the both of them, eyes wide with worry. "Ah, crap." Dean rubs a hand over his face.

"Dean, are you in trouble?" Sam asks in a small voice. 

"No, buddy. I just have to work tonight. So does Cas. We're just arguing about our workload. Don't worry, Sammy."

Sam regards Dean for a moment, eyes searching his face before he nods. "Please don't fight. I don't like it when you get upset, Dean." Sam hugs his book to his chest, looking small. He feels like a total asshole for putting that look on Sam's face. Heart sinking at the weight of his insensitivity, he reaches over and pulls Sam into his arms, hugging him tight. 

"I'm sorry, buddy. Didn't mean to get upset," he apologizes.

Sam hugs him back, wrapping his tiny arms around him. "It's okay, Dean. I forgive you." They stay like that for awhile, drawing comfort from each other. Then Sam pulls back and asks, "Can I go see if Amelia wants to play?"

He huffs out a laugh. Trust Sam to just move on like nothing happen. Like he wasn't upset just minutes ago. "Of course, buddy. But don't go harassing her if she doesn't want to play with your nerdy ass, okay?" he says, ruffling his hands in Sam's hair again.

Sam pulls back, pouting. "You're a jerk. But I still love you." Sam swoops in to plant a wet kiss on his cheek before turning tails and running back towards the house. He watches as Sam disappears into the house, a goofy smile on his face as he rubs at the wet spot on his cheek.

"You two are close."

He turns his attention back to Castiel, shrugging. "Yeah, I guess we are. He's my brother."

Castiel nods, looking down. "Not all brothers are like you." It sounds like a confession and Dean would like to prod further but then Castiel lifts his head. He has a sad and somber expression on his face. The light blue sky reflects in his eyes, making them appear more blue than ever. They look pained and heavy, weighed down by some unseen emotion. A pink tongue peeks out, wetting his slightly chapped lips before he takes a deep breath as if settling his nerves.

"You know, this place doesn't always used to be a whorehouse. When I first arrived here, it's just a regular group home. The first person I met was Lucifer. I remembered feeling scared. Lost. In a blink of an eye, I lost both my father and my older brother. I've never felt more alone. Despite what you may think, Lucifer was kind. He took me under his wings. He was caring, attentive and he made me feel safe. Like everything is going to be okay. That he will take care of me. That he will always be there. His presence comforts me." Castiel turns his gaze down at his hands in his lap. "Maybe I was naive or gullible but Lucifer can be really charming when he wants to. It didn't take long for us to end up in bed together. It was like how I always dreamt my first time to be. He was a generous partner. He took the time to prep me, pleasure me, making sure I enjoyed every moment. He was so sweet, so tender. And for the first time, I felt loved." Castiel swallows. 

"My father was a businessman. He traveled a lot. All his time and energy, he poured into work. Work was his life. He was by no means a bad father, he cared for me but- he didn't believe in affection. As for my older brother, he was the same. Ion believed in structure and rules and behaved accordingly. He studied hard, got good grades and was involved with so many extra curricular activities that I hardly got to see him at all. I'm alone at home most of the time. My social skills are "rusty". I don't have friends. I'm the school's punching bag. I never felt like I belong. You don't know how that feels like. The loneliness could eat you alive. Lucifer made me felt like I mattered. Special. And I didn't want the feeling to end..." Castiel's voice cracks, "So when he asked if I'm open for a threesome, I didn't even hesitated. He brought Azazel the next day. Lucifer participated the first time but then he started to remove himself. A week later, he wasn't even in the room anymore." 

Castiel turns tear-filled eyes on Dean, "Don't you see? I started this. I'm Lucifer's first. For the first two months, I was Azazel's whore. A chip Lucifer used to grease the wheels. Azazel doesn't just like to fuck me, Dean. He likes to watch too. And I went along with it because that's what Lucifer wanted. I didn't stop to think what that would mean and then Crowley and Alastair came into the picture and by that time, it was too late. I can't stop it. Because of me, you're all forced into the lifestyle. What happened to Anna, Tessa, and you, it's horrible and it's all my fault. So yes, I deserved this. And I will take every blow, every fuck if it means I could spare everyone else from more suffering. You don't deserve this. I do." Castiel stares at him, blue eyes wide and earnest. "This is my penance." 

Stunned, absorbing what Castiel had said, he tries to come up with a response. He opens and closes his mouth, but nothing comes out. He stares at the person in front of him, takes in the pain in his eyes, the slump in the shoulders. They all points to someone with a low self esteem. Castiel truly believed what he's saying to be the truth. And that's what hurt the most. Dean wants to say something. Anything to take away the hurt radiating out from Castiel in waves. But he doesn't know what to say. He sucks at this. He's not good at the whole hurt and comfort thing. Whatever his face is conveying, it must not have been good because then Castiel is hanging his head. A tear rolls off his cheek, catching the sunlight as it falls onto his jeans. 

"And now you don't want to be my friend anymore. It's okay, Dean. I wouldn't blame you. I understand. If it makes a difference at all, I'm really sorry." And with that, Castiel stands and moves to walk away. Shocked, Dean reaches out and grabs Castiel by his wrist. Castiel doesn't look back, instead he tugs at his grip. "Dean, please. I can't," Castiel says, his voice breaking. Pulling out of Dean's grasp, he half-walks half-runs back into the house.

He stares at Castiel's retreating back, chest hollow and head spinning. How did the day ends like this? Not just a while ago, they were enjoying their lunch together, laughing and smiling. Then, it had all gone to shit. Feeling like Castiel had taken a piece of him with him, Dean aches. Why does Castiel thinks that this is his fault? It is obvious to him that Castiel had been manipulated and used by Lucifer. Castiel is the victim here. How does he not see that? And why the hell didn't he said something? Castiel had accused him of not wanting to be his friend anymore. Where the hell did that come from? Why for fuck sake did Dean let him leave believing that? And all those crap about this being his penance, fuck no!

There are too many thoughts running through his mind right now. It's a jungle of emotion in there. Crisscrossing one another, confusing and muddled. But there's one thing he's sure of. Castiel is wrong.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end note for fanart.

Castiel closes his eyes and tries to breathe. He knows that if he tells Dean the truth, he'll end up losing him. Of course, he told him anyway. He can't not tell him. A friendship based on lies and deception is no friendship at all. And Dean deserves more than that. Unable to hold back the tears, he lets them fall, footsteps loud in the hallway. 

He'd been foolish, thinking he's worthy of Dean's time and attention, had used his generosity and big heart for his own selfish reason. Dean is kind, loyal and brave. Hadn't thought twice before offering his friendship like it was nothing. He had made him smiled and laughed, something Castiel hadn't done in awhile. For a while there, he felt normal again. And he was so hungry for it, he had let himself bought into the lie. Just so he could bask in Dean's warmth and presences a little longer.

But of course, it wouldn't last. His bubble burst and in the worst way possible. As if the guilt he's carrying for accepting his generosity wasn't enough, his selfish action had almost costed Dean. He was shocked when Dean had offered to take his place and it was then that he knew, he had to tell Dean the truth. He cannot be selfish any longer, _will not_ use Dean's open-heartedness against him. Dean deserved more than that. He had offered Castiel kindness when he deserved none. He owed Dean the truth.

The worst part about the whole thing was how he had held a tiny shimmer of hope that Dean might still want to befriend him. That Dean might not look at Castiel any different after knowing the truth. That maybe he could still have Dean as a friend. It was pitiful how hard he was holding on to that notion. How can he expects someone else not be disgusted by him when he himself hated what he had becomed? Hated what he had let happened to him. Hated what the home had turned into because of him. He had done so much wrong. His life here is exactly what he deserves. It's time he faces reality and stop dreaming.

Wiping away his tears, he steels himself. He forces his feet to carry him to Lucifer's office, his mind made up. He knocks and waits until he hears Lucifer's assent through the heavy oak door before letting himself in. 

The group home isn't fancy, but it's adequate to house seven people comfortably. The office is small with a robust looking work table and armchair. Lining the walls on both sides are filing cabinets and right behind Lucifer is a large window overlooking the streets. The sun is shining into the room, casting the man in front of him in shadows. Lucifer glances up and once he saw who's at the door, straightens up and leans back in the armchair.

Without wasting any time, he asks what he came here for. "I want to work a corner. Is there one you can send me to?" When Lucifer doesn't respond, he hastily adds. "I will be back before it's time for me to go to Chastity's." Lucifer continues to stare at him, quiet and unmoving. Feeling nervous, but also determined, he stands his ground, staring unblinkingly back at the man.

It's a long moment as Lucifer considers him, blue eyes intent before he says anything. "Your usual corner won't be busy at this time of day. Take the truck stop, the one a few miles from here. Be back by seven. I don't want you to be late for Chastity. You know how she is when she's pissed." 

"I won't be late. Thank you," he says and turns around. Just as he's about to close the door behind him, Lucifer calls out. "Cassie?" He pauses, waits. A moment of silence, then "Nothing." 

Castiel nods and closes the door. Walking back to his room, he changes into a tight fitting jeans that hang low on his hips and a pale blue T-shirt that brings out his eyes. Observing himself in the mirror hanging on his closet door, he takes in his appearance. 

Though he isn't skinny nor small, he's the walking embodiment of jailbait. It's all in his eyes. His dark hair and pale olive skin bring out his electric blue eyes. They give him an air of innocence. Wide and naive. His high cheekbone, the sharpness of his nose and his defined jaw give him an almost angelic look. He wets his chapped pink lips and scrubs a hand over his light scruff, debating if he should shave. 

Deciding against it, he grabs a string of condoms from his bedside drawer. Always use a condom when working the streets, that's Lucifer's rule. The only time he doesn't is for Azazel. And since last night, Crowley and Alastair. He trusts Lucifer's judgment. Maybe it's stupid but he believes Lucifer looks out for him. 

Unwilling to risk running into Dean in the house, he hurries towards the front door. Once outside, he slows down his pace, but not too much. There's an itch inside him that makes him restless. The sooner he gets to the truck stop the better. Then, he'll be able to let his thoughts go blissfully blank, instead of being plagued by persistent green eyes and warm smiles. 

It's another thirty minutes before he reaches the medium-size building on the outskirts of town. He scans the parking lot, taking in the few trucks parked outside. The deli adjacent to the tank station seems to be bustling with activities so he figures that he might be able to get a client or two soon. He walks towards the back of the building where the restroom is located. It's easier to pick up potential clients in the relative quiet away from prying eyes.

There are advantages to having Lucifer as their pimp. For one, no one messes with them. At first, there are still the occasional oblivious johns who thought it's okay to fuck and not pay. But they leanred soon enough. Those johns were found beaten and incapacitated the next day, bodies thrown like trash in the garbage bin courtesy of Alastair and his cronies. Words spread fast and people got the memo. It's hard to say since he'd been on the streets now for only a few weeks. But during these time, he has yet to be assaulted. 

Castiel had also noticed that the local gangbangers acted wary and terrified when Lucifer is present. Curious, he asked the others about it; the prostitutes working the corner with him. They had looked at him weird like he was stupid. Then, as if sharing a big secret, they leaned in close and whispered about how the leaders of the gangs who used to own them were found dead. The very next day, Lucifer was there to take over the businesses. It wasn't difficult to connect the dots. The thought that Lucifer would kill, or _could_ kill send a shiver down his spine. He hadn't asked anymore after that.

He looks up from where he'd been staring at his sneakers when he hears someone exits the restroom. A burly man in dirty jeans and plaid drenched in sweat ambles out, pulling up his zipper. When the man catches sight of him, he rakes his muddy brown eyes over his body, whistling appreciatively. Castiel straightens at the attention. 

"You selling?" the man asks, spitting on the ground.

"Depends on what you want," he answers, pitching his voice lower, more seductive as he peers up at the man through his lashes.

"Hot damn, kid. With a voice like that, you sound like you've already had a few dicks down your throat. How much for a blowjob? Let's see if we can make you sound even more fucked."

"That would be 50, ..." he trails off, unsure what to call the man.

"Call me John. Let's do it in my truck. More privacy that way." The man nods in the direction of the parking lot.

Right, John. Appropriate name for what they are about to do. He nods and follows John, who's quick to grab his ass and squeeze, before wrapping his arm around Castiel's waist, fingers hooking onto his belt loop. As they walk towards his truck, John slips his other hand into the front of his pant, groping for his penis. He jerks when John finds it and tries to ignore his ministration. 

When they finally got into the truck, John has already gotten himself all worked up and is quick to pull down his pants and underwear. He lets them hang around his knees, exposing himself lewdly. "Suck me, whore," he instructs.

Taking a deep breath, air stank with overdue sweat and body odor, he closes his eyes. This is what he wants. This is what he's here for. This is what he's good at. Most of all, this is what he deserves. Opening his eyes again, he wets his lips, slides onto his knees between John's leg and grabs the cherry flavored condom out of his back pocket.

\---

The afternoon sun is shining down on him, tingling the back of his neck. Dean gives the backyard one last scan before closing the door. Castiel is nowhere to be seen. He had searched the whole house, asked the others and still no sign of the teenager. Thinking he might had gone outside again, he went and checked but no. The house isn't that big, they're bound to cross path somehow, especially since Dean's actively seeking him out. He hopes that Castiel isn't avoiding him. 

Stepping inside, he deliberates. He hadn't checked Lucifer's office yet. He doubts that Castiel's there, though. What is he going to do? Help Lucifer plan more appointments and handle the bookings? Yeah, right. Given what Castiel had told him earlier, he's more likely to offer himself. His heart stutters and he stops in his aimless wander. No way is he going to do that, is he? Castiel's crazy talk about penance comes to mind and he marches right up to Lucifer's office and knocks. He waits. No answer. He knocks again. Nothing. Gripping the doorknob, he turns it and peeks inside. It's empty. 

Fuck. Maybe they went out together? Lucifer did apologizes and when Castiel left, he was in a pretty vulnerable state. His mind races. Images of Lucifer and Castiel in various scenarios flash through his head. The two of them huddled together in a booth at the back of a coffee shop, sipping hot coffee. Or they could be strolling about in the park, hands in hands. Maybe he took Castiel out for a proper lunch, not just a spontaneous lunch with sandwiches Castiel made himself. His stomach churns at the thought. God, he sucks.

He shuts the door, feeling dejected. He wanders towards the living room, lost in thought. Why does he care? Castiel is obviously in love with Lucifer. It isn't unusual if they're out on a date or something. He did say that Lucifer treated him well, before. Maybe with his guilt from this morning, he's being extra nice to Castiel? His guts churn uncomfortably at the thought. He doesn't know why it bugs him so much. He hadn't been able to get a wink of sleep last night, remembering the three words Castiel muttered in the silence of the van. 

_Love you, Luci._

His heart aches. He doesn't know why it had hurt so much. It's a just a crush! Crushes are not serious. He had enough of them in the past for him to get over this. Forget about Castiel! But no matter how much he wants to, Dean can't. Something about Castiel draws him in. Maybe it's the way he seems so sad all the time. So lost. Resigned. Like he had long given up hope of ever being happy. And Dean can't let that happen. Not when he'd seen Castiel's secret smiles, seen the way his blue eyes twinkles when he's amused, watched his full-bodied laugh and the way his nose scrunched up when he does and realizes he'll never tire of seeing Castiel happy.

He plops down onto the well-worn tan couch, the dip in the seat cushioning him. Staring in space, he wonders when did Castiel's became such a significant fixture in of his life. When his happiness became so dependant on that of Castiel's. He sighs and let his eyes trails over to the giggling sounds emanating from the corner of the room. Sam is glowering as he places his token into jail while Amelia happily rolls the dice. He glances at the cloak hanging on the opposite wall and lets out another sigh. Settling in to watch the two kids battling it out on Monopoly, he hopes that Castiel is okay, wherever he is with whatever he's doing.

\---

"Aww, shit. You made a fucking mess, kid!" John groans, looking down at his lap, bile and drool pooling around his groin. "Pass me that rag over there."

Coughing violently, Castiel snatches up the cloth John pointed and starts cleaning the mess he had made. John had been rough, pushing his head down onto his cock forcefully until he choked, unable to stop the vomit from spilling out. With trembling hands, he wipes John clean, the pungent smell of vomit thick in the air. John rolls down the window, letting in some fresh air. 

"Damn kid, and I thought you're a professional," John grumbles, disgusted. "If you think I'm paying for this crappy job, you got another thing coming. I didn't even come!"

"Sorry," he rasps out. His throat hurts and jaws aches, eyes watering. He cleans the mess up as best as he can, still shaking all over. 

"Ah fuck... Here's a ten." John throws two five dollar bills at his face. "Now, get the hell out of my truck."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He grabs the money and lets himself out, legs wobbly as he hits the ground. The engine of the truck roars beside him and he stumbles out of the way. He watches as the truck thundered down the road, leaving him behind in a cloud of dust. Stuffing the dollar bills into his jeans pocket, he walks back to his previous spot.

The next hours past in the same manner. He had given a total of five blowjobs after John. His knees are burning from the number of times he was shoved down roughly onto the hard pavement. Three of the johns had pushed him down where he stood and fucked his face, uncaring when one or more passersby had stopped to watch. The other two had taken him back their truck and took their sweet time using his mouth. One took so long that by the time he came, his jaw was aching from having his mouth stretched open for so long. 

He's lucky that he'd only been asked to give blowjobs. He isn't sure he'll be able to say no if they had wanted to fuck him. He knows it's stupid to since he's still sore. But the pain would have been a welcome relief. His stomach rumbles and he looks up at the sky. He doesn't have a watch, but he thinks it's about time he gets back. The sky's getting dark.

Passing by the deli, he makes a quick stop inside to grab a sandwich. His mouth tastes like strawberries from the flavored condom he'd used. He should probably wash out his mouth before eating.

The door to the deli jingles as he exits. He walks towards the restroom, pushing the door open and enters. Placing his sandwich beside the sink, he splashes water on his face and gurgles. He hears the door to the restroom opens but doesn't pay it any mind. When he's done, he turns off the tap and stares at his reflection.

He startles at the sight of five burly looking men in the room with him. The way they're staring at him stir an uneasy feeling inside him. He averts eye contact and takes his sandwich. Feeling unnerved, his pulse quickening, he turns around intending to ignore the men and make his quiet exit. As he approaches the door though, two of them block his way. Unable to proceed further, he stops and takes a step back as he tries hard to stay calm. 

"Can I help you?" he asks, glad to see that his voice remains steady despite the erratic heartbeats against his chest.

The two men smirk. Then, they step aside as another man, a black man around 6'1 with broad shoulder and a muscular body and a cropped haircut steps forward between them. "I'll say. Saw you on your knees with your mouth stuffed earlier. Been itching something bad ever since. Then, guess who I saw walked into the deli?" He spreads his arms wide. "I guess it's meant to be."

Castiel doesn't answer, his heart pounding in his throat. For some reason, these men scare him. "I'm actually done for the day. I'm expected back. I'm sorry," he stutters out as he tries to bypass the man. He manages to brush past the man when he grabs hold of his arm and slams him hard onto the wall beside the door. The man leers down at him, dark brown almost black eyes staring down at his lips. He shoves a thumb into Castiel's mouth, forcing them open. 

"You're done when I say you're done." Then he backhanded him. Castiel's cheek stings as his head snaps to the side. The man turns toward his friends who have all gathered around him to watch, eyes gleaming with excitement. "You two, stand guard outside." They both look like they're about to protest when he adds, "You'll get your turn. Don't worry." The panic that was slowly setting in erupts.

"Don't make me wait too long, Gordon." One of them grumbles. 

They shove pass the others and disappear behind the door. Castiel watches them go, panicking, his eyes darting around searching for a way to escape. He's still bracketed against the wall by Gordon's body. Something shiny catches his eyes. He freezes. Sticking out the side of Gordon's body, holstered in its place is a gun. His eyes fly to the others, unable to stop his fear from skyrocketing when he spotted more guns.

"Are you cops?" he murmurs, voice shaky.

"What did you say, baby?" Gordon turns around to face him, eyes unnaturally wide. He has this crazy look about him, twitchy and manic. His pupils are dilated and the redness of his eyes make him look rabid, strung out. Castiel had seen this look before, on some of the prostitutes he worked with. The man is definitely high out of his mind. Gordon glances down at where Castiel is staring at and grins. "I'm sorry to break it to you angel, but we're as far from cops as can be," he taunts in a singsong voice.

Gangbanger then. His knees starts to feel weak. "Please don't hurt me. I'll do anything you want, just don't hurt me."

"Now why would we want that? We like it when the little bitch cry," he sneers. Without warning, Gordon punches him in the gut. Castiel bends over clutching his stomach as he gasps for air. His legs buckles and he falls to his knees, pain tearing up his side. 

When he feels someone yanks his hair, he chokes out, desperate. "Please, I'm one of Lucifer." Gordon crouches down in front of him, hand still gripping tight in his hair, pulling at his scalp. It hurts and his eyes starts to water from the pain.

"That's supposed to mean something to me, bitch?" he growls before spitting in his face and moves to stand back up, dragging Castiel along with him.

Realizing he's fucked, Castiel screams. "Help! Somebody, please! Help me!" The punch comes out of nowhere, and sends him sprawling onto the tiled floor, groaning in pain.

A set of boots appear in his field of vision. Fearing that he's going to get kicked in the face, he lifts his hands to shield himself. Then, he hears laughter. Before he knows it, he's forced onto his back and Gordon's climbing on top of him, straddling his thighs. He is rough and relentless. The strength with which he used to rip open his jeans causes his hips to lift with the force of it, the fabric cutting into his skin. The buttons pop and his tailbone hits the floor hard. His jeans is torn, exposing his boxers.

"Please..." he tries again before a slap rings across his face. Then, another backhand. His cheeks burn and he stares up at the giant of a man on top of him, tears threatening to fall. 

"Did I say you could talk?" Gordon asks in a low, menacing voice, leaning low to breathe in his face. He shakes his head. "Good." Gordon then flips Castiel onto his stomach and pulls down his jeans and boxers down in one go. 

Terror rises in his throat. He's scared. He has never been in a situation like this before. Sure, he's had clients that liked to be rough, but that's all part of the play, the scene. He knew he was safe. And when he was working a corner, his clients mostly consisted of lonely men looking for a warm willing hole to fuck. Castiel was never threatened physically before. Violence is something new to him. And it terrifies him. These men want to hurt him. They have guns.

His reflexes kicks in. He starts to struggles, trying to crawl away from beneath Gordon, kicking blindly. His feet hits something solid and he hears an oof behind him. The weight holding him down disappears. Pushing himself to his arms and knees, he makes a run for it. But before he's anywhere close to the door, someone tackles him around the middle and they land in a heap on the floor. Castiel falls on his stomach, struggling against the weight on top of him. The body lifts itself but before he's able to scramble up, someone stamps on his back and his chin hits the floor with a loud crack.

"Oh, you're going to regret doing that bitch!" Gordon growls. Somewhere behind him, someone is shoving his jeans down again. He lashes out. "Fucking hold him down!" Gordon barks. A weight settles on the top of his neck as someone places their knees on top of his arms, effectively cutting off his upper body movement. Someone moves to sit on his upper thighs as another rips his jeans and boxers off his feet roughly, causing him to lose a shoe in the process. 

"You're a whore, bitch. Why the fuck are you even struggling?" Gordon spreads his asscheeks wide and laughs. "Take a look at this bitch's fuckhole. Fucking bitch must have been taking cocks up his ass the whole day. Angel," he coos, "You may look all innocent on the outside, but your hole definitely tells a different story. Damn, if that's isn't a whore's hole." Gordon kneads at his asscheeks, spitting at his hole. He squirms, unable to move, faceplanting on the cold tile floor. "How many ass pounding did you take today, kid?" 

Castiel doesn't answer. Instead, he goes limp. The others laugh as Gordon continues to humiliate him. Someone pokes at his sore side with their boots. He grits his teeth and closes his eyes. It'll be over soon. It's not like this is new. You can take this, he tells himself. When Castiel hears the telltales clink of a belt buckle being undone, he snaps his head up.

"Wait! Please, not like this. We need lube! I have condoms in my pocket, just please. I'm not ready yet, please-" His words are cut off when he feels the blunt head of a cock at his entrance. Then, a scream forces its way out his throat as Gordon tears into him. His fingers curl into fists as inches by inches the cock sinks into him. His ass ached as tears stream down his cheek, pooling on the tile floor. 

When Gordon's fully seated in him, he begins to thrust. Every push and pull of Gordon's cock in and out of him send jolts of pain up his spine. His channel is dry and raw and he can feel every drag of skin against skin. He wonders how this can be pleasurable for Gordon. It has to be painful for him as well. He doesn't have time to dwell on it though, because then Gordon's thrusts become smoother and slicker. He had tore something inside him. 

It feels like hours but could be mere minutes before Gordon is grunting with his orgasm, pumping his seeds deep inside him. The hot liquid sparks more pain within him. When Gordon pulls out, a trickle of blood and come leaks out of his wrecked hole, dripping between his asscheeks and down his balls. All Castiel can do is lies on the floor, trembling and shaking in a state of shock. He jolts when he feels another cock breaches him and chokes back a cry.

When the man is done, the man who has been sitting on his neck replaces him. Not that it matters. His struggles had died down sometime around the second person. His body is taut with pain, muscles clenching as he tries to tune out the pain. Every one of them took their turn, even the two men outside. By then, he's just a limp heap sprawled on the floor. Throughout it all, they never stop berating him, humiliating him. Mocking him with their words until that's all he hears. A string of insults and abuses. 

"How do you like my big fat cock stretching you wide, bitch?"

"Yeah fuck that hole man, look how it's gaping begging for more!"

"Slap that perky ass. Make it glows red!"

"Look how sloppy the little bitch is. We wrecked that hole!"

"Turn him around. I want to see the bitch face as I fuck into him."

The fifth man moans his release and then rough hands are manhandling him onto his back. Castiel squints into the glare of the fluorescent lights from the ceiling. A man he recognizes as the one blocking his path earlier wraps his arms under his thighs and drags his ass onto his lap, shoving his cock inside him with one thrust. Without missing a beat, he starts up a brutal pace, hard fast strokes that jarred his body with each thrust. His head lolls, hair matted against his forehead. It's then that he realizes the men in the room all have their phones out, directed at him. Some are aimed at his face, some where he is connected to the man grunting above him. 

The flashes blind him. Disoriented, he closes his eyes and turns his head away. One of the men starts pinching his nipples. Holding the buds tight, he squeezes and twists them hard. Gasping in pain, Castiel hunches in on himself, writhing and twisting as he tries to escape the torture. He gets punched in the face for his efforts, biting the inside of his cheek upon impact. Blood pools in his mouth. 

With a soft grunt, the man inside him pulls out. He straightens on his knees, flicking his hair out of his eyes as he exhales audibly. Unable to move, Castiel lies motionless on the floor, legs spread as blood and come steadily leak out of him onto the tiled floor. Ugly looking bruises start to form on his face and body. 

Just when he thinks it's over, Gordon pulls him up by his hair and slams him against the sink. His hipbones bang hard into the stretch of concrete there. Red hot pain shoots up from the point of contact, running up his spine and he gasps momentarily blinded by pain. Gordon yanks his head back and smashes his face onto the tap. His nose shatters on impact, blood splattering the area. All he sees is red as his vision slides in and out of focus. Blood pours out of his nose and down his nostrils, clogging his airways and he chokes as he struggles to breathe. 

Gordon drags his head back up. Castiel could see himself in the mirror above the sink and he almost flinches away by what he saw. It's hard to recognize the person staring back at him. One of his eyes is swollen shut, ugly bruises littering one side of his face as blood spurts from his nose and drips from his mouth. His chest is heaving as he gasps for air, coughing and spluttering as Gordon wraps one arm around his waist. 

"This is a beautiful look on you, is it not, whore?" Gordon whispers into his ear. "I like it a lot." Gordon lets go of his grip on his hair and Castiel sags forward. But before he could fall, Gordon slides his hand up his chest, supporting him. With his free hand, he grabs hold of his thigh and lifts it over the edge of the sink. Castiel whimpers as the move pulls at his injured body. Without hesitation, Gordan shoves himself inside Castiel once again, fucking slow and deliberate.

He kisses down Castiel's neck, staring intently at his reflection. Blood shot eyes stare back at him. "You hurt so pretty, angel. Cry for me," Gordon murmurs into his neck before biting down hard enough to break skin. Castiel cries out, fresh tear stinging his eyes. "Oh yeah, like that. You're making me so hard, baby. Lucky you're so loose now huh, or I might actually tear you apart." Snickering, he adds, "Oops, I already did." 

As Gordon continues to pound into him form behind, his vision starts to blur. He feels lightheaded. Castiel blinks, trying to clear the fog. But he feels himself slipping away. He's losing too much blood. His body feels weak and he's so tired. He just wants to close his eyes. He thinks maybe he's dying. Weirdly enough, the prospect doesn't scare him. In fact, he welcomes it. So he lets go.

\---

The front door opens, and Dean snaps his head towards it so fast, he thinks he might have whiplash. When he sees Lucifer walking in, he pretends to be captivated by the Monopoly battle in front of him, just in case Castiel is following behind. But when Lucifer closes the door, and Castiel is nowhere in sight, he frowns.

"Lucifer," he calls before Lucifer can stride down the hall to his office. The man pauses in his steps, giving Dean an impatient look. "Isn't Cas with you? I can't seem to find him anywhere. Where is he?"

"He's working."

"Working? I thought he's only going to Chastity's tonight?" he exclaims, shocked.

"He requested it, so I said he could. Now please stop bothering me with your questions. I have work to do."

Angry and worried, he snaps. "Where?"

Lucifer sighs, looking testy. "He's at the truck stop. He'll be home by seven. Now that I seem to have answered all your questions, can I go now?" he asks sarcastically. "Don't bother answering that. It's rhetorical." With that, Lucifer exits the living room, leaving him to stew in his own thoughts. 

What is Castiel doing? What the hell is he thinking? What the actual fuck is running through that stupid brain of his? Goddamit. He knew it! He knew Castiel would do something dumb like this. God, the guy can be so stupid sometimes, his self-esteem almost nonexistent. How could he thinks so little of himself? Making his mind up, he stands. 

"Sammy, I'm going out for a while. If you need anything or if anything happens, find Anna. You'll be alright by yourself in the meantime?"

Sam looks up from where he's sitting on the floor and nods. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to find Cas." He runs a hand through his hair. "I won't be long. Just promise me you'll take care of yourself, okay?" He plants a kiss on Sam's forehead. "I'll be back soon, buddy. And you can tell me all about your defeat," he adds, giving Amelia a wink.

"Hey! I'm not losing!" Sam pouts. "Not yet anyway. Don't jinx it, Dean." He ruffles Sam's head, avoids his swat and rushes out the door, grabbing his jacket on the way. 

Right. Now, to find Castiel. And make him listens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart: [Judgment Error](http://trenchcoatandimpala.tumblr.com/post/145202155353/its-a-terrible-life-chapter-7-judgement-error)


	8. Chapter 8

Water floods into his lungs. He can't breathe. His body convulses as he trashes. Every breath burns as he desperately tries to get air into his protesting lungs. He's suffocating. Swallowing lungful of water through his nose and mouth, his screams turning into bubbles in front of his eyes, he realizes. So this is how drowning feel like. 

Then, all of a sudden, he can breathe again. Castiel gasps, choking and spluttering, taking gulps after gulps of much-needed air, at the same time coughing up water from his lungs. Shuddering violently, he takes in his surrounding. He's on his knees in front of a toilet bowl, the front of his t-shirt drenched. Water rolls off his hair and face as he pants, blinking water out of his eyes.

Someone grabs him by the arms and drags him back out, dropping him in the middle of the room. He stares around the restroom, taking in the blood splatter on the sink and the smudges on the floor around him. Five men are gathered around him. They look furious. One of them kicks him in the stomach. He groans, curling onto his side as he tries to make himself a smaller target.

"Fucking weak!" Another kick. Followed by another grunt of pain. 

"Fucking useless, aren't you?" A sharp kick at his shoulder spins him onto his back. 

"Taking cocks. That's all you're good at." Someone places their foot between his thigh, right above his flaccid penis and balls. "Bet you couldn't get it up even if you try," he taunts, applying more pressure. He whimpers as the man grinds the sole of his boots down onto his crotch. Writhing and squirming in pain, he grabs at the boots trying to push it away but it only comes down harder. He cries, the sound strangled, guttural. The man lifts his boots, smirking. Clutching his balls, he rolls to his side, legs closing in on itself. 

Someone walks by his head, the boots stopping directly in front of his face. He flinches as whoever it is, moves but instead of kicking him in the face like he expected, he crouches down. Rough fingers grip his chin, jerking his head upwards. Castiel stares blearily at the figure in front of him. Gordon. "Thank you for a good time, little bitch," he says, giving his cheek two firm pat. Then, without warning, his fist connects with his jaw forcefully, spit and blood flying as his head spins around. Castiel collapses, knocking his head hard against the tiled floor. 

"Time to hit the road, boys," he says as he wipes his hands on Castiel's shirt. Standing up, Gordon steps over his body to the exit. The sounds of more footsteps follow. 

The door bangs open and falls close with a soft click. Everything goes silent. All Castiel can hear is the steady drip of leaking taps and the smell of blood and urine to accompany him. He lies on the floor, unable to move, his vision blurring. He doesn't know if it's because he's crying or he's losing consciousness, but he can feel his body begins to shake. It starts slow, one moment he is lying on the floor, struggling to breathe through the blood in his mouth and nose, his labored breathing echoing off the restroom walls. The next, he is hit with a wave of spasms so hard that his muscles cramped up, causing him to convulse violently. 

The funny thing is, as his body goes into shock, all he can think of are the things he came here to forget. Kind green eyes. A warm smile. Long lashes. A smattering of freckles. And sandy blonde hair. A tear falls from his lashes and leaks down the side of his face to the floor. He closes his eyes and let the convulsion takes over. Right before he is swallowed by darkness, he swears he heard someone called out his name. Whoever it is, sounds young. Familiar.

_Cas._

Someone takes him into their arms. He could feel their warmness against his damp and chilled skin. But he's still convulsing, and the darkness is all consuming. Someone is cupping his face but he can't see. He feels himself falling, and for the first time since he was assaulted, he doesn't want to die. He wants to stay here, in this person's arm where it's warm and soft. He doesn't want to die. 

_I'm sorry._

There are no snippets of the top 10 moments of his life. No flashbacks or memories. Nothing.

Just _him_.

Dean. 

\---

Dean tugs on his leather jacket as he ambles down the few cobble steps at the front of the house, bowlegs apparent in his loose fitting jeans. The day is still warm enough without a jacket, but it's getting a little windy now, making it feels a degree or two colder. He hunches his shoulder forward, the leather jacket hanging off his slight frame. It used to belong to his dad. When he disappeared, he left some of his things behind. The jacket is one of Dean's favorite. It still smells like dad sometimes if he's desperate enough. Wearing it makes him feels a tad safer, stronger. And he needs all the courage he could get for his talk with Castiel.

He takes in a deep breath. To be honest, he's feeling anxious about having this conversation. He stands by his words that he sucks at these feelings crap. They're messy and confusing and trying to talk about them is like pulling teeth. They're just damn hard to get out. Why can't people just understand what he is trying to say without him actually saying it? The world would be a much better place. No misunderstanding. No putting your foot in your mouth. Something he's unnaturally good at. And isn't that just great. 

Shaking his head, he's still in disbelief. Castiel must not be coping very well if this is what he resorted to. And could Dean blame him? He's in a relationship with someone who abuses him both mentally and physically. To make matter worse, Castiel actually believes that he deserves this life, that he belongs on the streets. Believes this to be some sort of atonement. And for what? For something that he has no control over whatsoever! What kind of fucked up logic is that? His head hurts trying to make sense of it. 

Because Castiel is awesome, okay? Sure, the guy can be awkward and is too intense sometimes. The way he stares makes you feel like he could see inside your soul. It's creepy but for some reason, Dean likes it. It feels like he's being seen. Years spent moving around, it makes forming relationships hard; friends and otherwise. And with dad being gone most of the time, sometimes it feels like nobody really _sees_ him. Except for Sam, he has no one. 

Despite his intensity or perhaps because of it, makes Castiel a compassionate person. The guy has a lot of heart. He's capable of so much love, caring, thoughtful and giving to those around him. Only he could forgive so quickly and easily, happy to accept an apology. Castiel is so earnest and sincere about his feelings. He doesn't keep them locked up inside but wears them on his sleeves for all to see. 

As much as it's his best attribute, too much heart is also Castiel's problem. He loves with an entirety. He gives his heart and soul to the people around him, be it a stranger or a friend. And that's what makes Castiel so great. He's selfless. Despite what he'd went through, Castiel still managed to keep his faith in humanity. After witnessing first hand the depravity of the lowest scumbags in society, he still believes in the goodness of people. Still looks at the world and sees the beauty of it. That's what makes him special. 

Dean, on the other hand, has a jaded view of the world. But he's not a quitter. He's a fighter. Whatever happens, he'll go down swinging. He's too stubborn not to. But damn does he wants to see the world the way Castiel sees it. Like there's hope. A light at the end of the tunnel. 

The sky rumbles. He looks up at the darkening clouds. Seems like it is going to be a rainy night. He hopes it storms. If he doesn't screw up too badly, maybe they could walk back together. Maybe they could watch the storm tonight, cuddled up nice and warm in a blanket. The thought warms his heart. He's addicted to hanging out with Castiel. It feels so right, to have him by his side. They don't even have to talk, the silence between them comfortable. Just soaks in each others presence. He can stare into those intense blue eyes forever.

God, he's so _whipped_ if that's what his inner monologues sound like. 

Dean mentally smacks his brain, telling it to shut up and glances up ahead. He knows which truck stop Lucifer meant, had been there himself when dad had stop to pump up on gas. From this distance, he can see the flickering neon sign promoting the deli. It'll take him about five minutes to get there. He doesn't want to think about what Castiel is probably doing right now. 

Awesome as he may be, Castiel can be pretty dense. How could he not see his effect on Dean? Castiel made him blushed more in a day than he did in his entire lifetime. And he's not one to blush. In fact, he's quite the ladies man. But then again, he'd never been smooth with the men. When you're young, confused and scared, even the most well-thought move takes a swan dive. 

He hadn't had much practice anyway. Not when part of him is terrified his old man would find out. John is a man's man. A homicide detective. He wouldn't take well to his son being bisexual. Would never believe it's even a thing. The thought of his dad ever finding out makes his stomach squirms uncomfortably. It's easy to imagine the disappointment in his dad's eyes, the disgust on his face. Dean sighs. No matter how hard he tries to please his old man, he'll never be enough.

A rowdy crowd draws his attention, snapping him out of his depressing thoughts. He looks up, catching sight of a group of men laughing and jeering, showing off something on their phone. They're still a little too far away for him to make out what they are saying exactly but experiences tell him not to attract the attention of these men. Everything about them spells trouble. He slows his pace, watching as the group walks towards the Harleys parked in a row by the deli.

One of the men, a big black guy, jumps onto his bike and starts the engine, revving it to get the attention of the others. Even from this distance, Dean could see his bloodshot eyes, the feral glint in them. He shivers. The others climb onto their bike and one by one they leave the truck stop, revving their engines loudly as they fly past him, causing the hair on his skin to stand. 

Morons. He shakes his head as he walks up to the building. Castiel's most likely be near the restroom. Not that he would know per se, he hadn't had to work the streets yet. He just guess based on what he'd seen on television. Maybe it's stereotypical of him, considering the place actually looks decent, not dodgy or dingy like he thought it would be. Normal. 

When he reaches the side of the building where the restroom is, he scans around for Castiel. He frowns. No sight of Castiel. Maybe he is currently with a client? In one of the trucks in the parking lot? He cranes his head upwards to see if he can spot any sign of life in any one of those trucks. Squinting, he surveys every windshield in the parking lot, on the lookout for any telltale signs. A bobbing head. Anything. Nothing.

He purses his lips. Maybe Castiel is in the restroom? He hesitates. It's hurt him just to think of it; he's unsure if he wants to catch Castiel in the act. He decides to wait around. As he leans against the wall outside, he hears a noise. His ears prick up. He looks around and then his eyes lock on the door to the restroom. Without warning, the hair on the back of his neck prickles. His heart thumps.

There, near the handle of the door, is a stain that looks like blood. The air grows thick around him, and his heart is drumming a heavy beat in his chest. Suddenly afraid, he swallows. Then he hears it again. A sort of choking, guttural and throaty. 

Without thinking, he takes a step forward. Then another. And before he knows it, his hands is clasped around the doorknob, sticky with blood. Silence. So silent except for the turn of the doorknob, the click rings loud in his ears. A sharp coppery smell hits his nostrils. Dean throws the door open, and stares horrified. The scene in front of him is like something out of a horror movie.

There's blood smeared everywhere. The smell of it overpowering, metallic and rusty. Combined with the pungent smell of bleach and urine, he doesn't think he'll ever be able to forget the smell. Lying in the middle of it all, is a boy. He's half naked and bloody. Dean's heart jumps to his throat when he recognizes the mop of dark hair. 

Castiel is seizing, eyes rolling into the back of his head, muscles spasming. All thoughts fly out of his head as Dean rushes forwards, falling onto his knees beside Castiel. His vision starts to blur as tears fill his eyes. 

"C- Cas?" His voice breaks. He swallows and tries again. "CAS!" It's a wretched sound, strangled like his voice is being ripped from his throat. Dean hesitates for awhile, hands hovering above the battered body unsure of what to do. Then, he pulls Castiel into his arms and holds his head against his chest, fighting against the convulsion shaking his entire frame. Castiel jerks one last time and stills, going limp in his arms.

His heart stops. 

"Cas?" His voice trembles, a tear rolls down his cheek. "Cas?! W- Wake up!" he chokes, jostling Castiel. His head lolls around listlessly, eyes closed. "No, please Cas! Not now, please... Don't leave me!" he cries, fingers coming up to Castiel's neck, searching for a pulse. "Not like this... CAS!"

He couldn't feel a damn thing! Stopping, Dean takes a deep breath and forces himself to calm down. Pressing two fingers over Castiel's pulse point, he closes his eyes, tears spilling down both cheeks. 

He feels it. A beat. 

It's hardly there and dangerously slow. Snapping his eyes open, he moves into action. He shuffles out of his leather jacket and drapes it over Castiel. Then, careful not to jar him too much, he lifts Castiel up, bridal style. When he looks down at the broken face, the once bright blue eyes swollen shut, he feels a pang in his chest. 

"It's okay, Cas. Stay with me," he whispers. "I've got you. Just stay with me, buddy. Don't go to sleep."

He carries Castiel out of the restroom, into the open. The sky is gloomy and foreboding, dark clouds rolling in, promising a storm. Afraid that Castiel might have a punctured lung or broken bones, Dean keeps his grip firm and steady. It is hard to tell how bad his injuries are when his body is so battered and bruised, blood caking his head and thighs. He forces himself not look at the dried come splattered all over Castiel's body. He needs to keep his head straight. Focus. He needs to find help. 

Throwing the door to the deli open with his shoulder, he cries out for help. His outburst causes the whole deli to go quiet, everyone turning to stare. 

"Somebody, call 911. Please..." he begs.

It took a second before the deli erupts into action. Patrons scramble up from their seat and rush over. The waitress behind the counter reaches for the phone on the wall, dialing 911. Within seconds, he's surrounded by a mass of people, all plying him with questions and voicing their shock. When one of them tries to pry Castiel out of his arms, he holds on tight, shaking his head as tears stream down his face. 

He feels scared, overwhelmed and most of all useless as he cradles Castiel closer, pressing a kiss into the mop of hair. His knees feel weak, and he lets himself slides to the ground, arms tight around the body in his lap. Closing his eyes, he buries his nose in Castiel's hair. Every slow rise and fall of Castiel's chest keep him grounded, gives him hope. 

He whispers reassurances and comforting words in Castiel's ear, tells him that everything is going to be alright, and that help is on the way. He tells him to stay with him because he had promised to take Castiel on a date and he's not one to break his promises. They still have to watch the rain together. And Dean's nowhere near done getting to know him. There's still so many things he doesn't know like what's his favorite color, his favorite food. 

Dean tells him about his crush on him, how every look Castiel threw at him made him blushed, how his heart beat a little faster. He tells him he cares for him and that he doesn't want Castiel to go, to leave him behind. He tells him about his abandonment issues, his fears, his insecurities. He spills out his soul until there is nothing left, just desperate pleas and Castiel's name on his lips. 

It feels like an eternity later before he finally hears the sound of sirens in the distance. Then, it's all a blur. The paramedics rush towards him, coaxing him to let go of Castiel. He refuses at first, and it's not until after a sympathetic paramedic tells him that they need to strap Castiel onto the stretcher so that they can bring him to the hospital that Dean manages to let go. He stays close, not wanting to let Castiel out of his sight. Watches as the paramedics give Castiel's body a quick scan, checking for any life threatening injuries before lifting him onto the stretcher and rolling him into the waiting ambulance. 

Dean is quick to scramble into the back seat, not giving them any excuse to leave him behind. Taking Castiel's hand in his, he watches as another paramedic places an oxygen mask over Castiel's mouth and nose. Under the bright lights in the ambulance, Castiel looks pale and sick, skin white against the red covering half his face. The siren echoes loudly in his ear as they starts to move and for the whole ride to the hospital, his eyes never leave Castiel's face, his hand a death grip onto Castiel's own limp ones, afraid that if he doesn't hold tight enough, he might lose Castiel forever.


	9. Chapter 9

When they arrive at the hospital, they're met by a doctor and three nurses at the door to the emergency unit. The doctor is quick to ask about his stats, the head paramedic handing over a clipboard. He reads it on the go, striding alongside the nurses as they roll the stretcher to the emergency room. Trailing at his side, the head paramedic lists off a few observations. Dean manages to catch words like; trauma victim, massive blood loss, head injuries and possible concussion, as he follows, eyes wide.

That doesn't sound good. He looks back at Castiel, who's lying unconscious on the stretcher. There is a make-shift bandage on his head now soaked with blood. His heart squeezes tight. Castiel's going to be alright. He is bleeding yeah, but these doctors are going to fix him up in no time.

If he needs more blood, then Dean is a willing blood bag. He just needs Castiel to be alright. He has to be. He doesn't think he can go through suffering the loss of another person he cared about so soon after his dad. Tightening his grip on the rails of the stretcher, he follows. 

Out of nowhere, a palm rests on his chest stopping him and his grip on the stretcher slips. He tries to grab it, but it's too late. He watches as Castiel disappears behind two swinging doors. When he looks up, Dean stares into the face of a stern looking nurse. 

"I'm sorry, but I have to ask you to wait here."

Dean glances at the closed door and back at the nurse, opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He has reached his breaking point. The head paramedic touches the nurse's arm, communicating silently. The nurse nods and walks away. When she turns, he realizes that she's the sympathetic paramedic from earlier. 

"Why don't we take a seat over there? You must be exhausted." She points to a row of chairs just a few feet away. 

He glances towards the chairs then back at the paramedic. The name tag on her shirt reads "Hael." Then, he looks back at the closed door of the emergency room, feeling numb and lost. Tears start to pool in his eyes, and he bites his lips, trying to stop himself from crying. He had cried enough today. And Castiel is going to be fine, so why the hell is he crying? Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he looks up. Hael is looking at him, concerned.

"What's your name?" she asks.

"Dean."

"Well, Dean. Don't worry. I'm sure the doctor is doing his very best to save your... um..." she hesitates, unsure on how to refer Castiel.

"Friend. He is my friend. His name is Cas. Castiel Novak." His voice is so hoarse and gruff, rough from all the tears. 

Hael nods then adds. "I know the doctor who's working on him. Dr. Benton is one of the best here. Your friend is in good hands." When he doesn't answer, just nods dumbly, she continues. "Is there someone I could call? His parents? Family members? They will want to know."

He shakes his head. "No, he is an orphan. Like me. We lived in the same group home."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Is there someone at the home I should call?"

"You could call Lucifer, I guess." He jots down the number of the home on Hael's notepad and watches as she walks to the reception desk to make the call. Lucifer is going to be pissed. Shoulders slumping, he walks towards one of the chairs and sinks into it. He feels drained all a sudden. He covers his face with his hands, leaning forward and tries to shut out the background noise of the hospital. The strong smell of disinfectant is giving him a headache.

He isn't sure how long he'd been waiting when an officer approaches him. He introduces himself as Officer Corbett and that he's here to take his statement. He was understanding and patient when Dean struggled to describe the scene of the crime, unable to stop his voice from cracking. He told Officer Corbett about the men he saw leaving the truck stop. 

When asked for more details, he mentioned the Harleys and the black man and no, he hadn't caught any number plates. Officer Corbett wanted to know why they were there in the first place, so he made up some story about their dinner appointment just to be safe. Dean doesn't know how far Azazel's reach in the police force is and doesn't want to incur his wrath. Satisfied with his answers, Officer Corbett gave him a pat on the back and left him alone. 

He stares at the closed doors, legs jittering with nerves. Every time the doors swing opens and a doctor or a nurse steps out, his heart skips a beat. But there's still no news on Castiel yet. He glances up at the clock hanging on the white walls of the hospital. It has been almost an hour now, what the hell is taking so long? He's starting to get agitated, jerky so he hums Metallica under his breath, tapping the tune out on his thigh. It's a nervous habit, but it calms him down. 

Did something went wrong? Is Castiel going into cardiac arrest? Are they jump-starting his heart right now? With the machine and two metal plates? What is it called? A defibrillator? Is his vitals going down? Dean had watched enough Dr. Sexy reruns to form a compilation of scary medical malfunction. Sitting there, scaring himself half of out of his mind with possible worst case scenarios, he's snapped out of his horror by someone rudely slapping their hands together in front of his face.

"What the hell happened?!" Lucifer seethes, face livid. 

Blinking, Dean takes in the fury pouring off Lucifer in waves, shocked. He's never known Lucifer to be capable of expressing emotions like this. He's always so calm and impassive, even when he arrived at the club last night and found Castiel half conscious. His voice was even, and his eyes icy when he admonished Alastair. Nothing like how he looks like now, blue eyes blazing, nostril flaring and lips in a tight line. His blonde hair is a disheveled mess.

"He asked you a question. Are you mute? Can't you speak?" Azazel snaps from beside Lucifer, wearing the same expression of fury. 

"I- I don't know. I went to the truck stop, and I just found him like this. Beaten bloody." Then, in a whisper, he adds. "I think he had been raped..."

Lucifer snaps his head toward Azazel. "Who the hell would do this?" he demands, glaring dagger at Azazel. "I thought you have your people under control! Where's Alastair? Isn't his men supposed to be keeping the streets safe?"

"I assure you, no one I know is responsible for this. They wouldn't dare," Azazel says, voice tight. "You know as much as I do that Alastair's men don't have eyes everywhere. And they're more repercussion than prevention." 

"Repercussion I can do myself. What I needed him to do is to keep my people safe. And now-" Lucifer motions towards the emergency door. 

"Trust me, I'm as angry as you are. Castiel's a good kid." Azazel glances towards the doors, eyes angry, but there's a tinge of sadness to it. "He doesn't deserve this."

"At least tell me we know who did this."

"The witnesses that we'd spoken to didn't seem to notice much apart from Dean rushing into the deli with Castiel. The truck stop is an inbetween place. These men could have just been passing through which will make senses. They couldn't have known of the unspoken embargo on your people." Azazel turns his attention on Dean. "In your statement, you said they all drive a Harley?" When he nods, Azazel continues. "Where did they park them?"

Dean tries to remember. "By the deli. In front of the windows that looked out to the parking lot."

Azazel nods, a determined look on his face. "They have cameras at the truck stop, near the front of the deli. I'll check to see if they manage to capture these men. Maybe it will shed some light on who these people were," Azazel reassures Lucifer. "I will hunt these men down myself if I have to."

Lucifer nods, still angry but somewhat calmer. "Thank you, Zazel." Lucifer gazes at the closed doors, a grim expression on his face before he seems to remember him. "Dean, it's almost eight. Go home. You have work to do." And anticipating his protest, Lucifer adds. "I'll keep you updated on how Castiel is doing." 

"I want to stay. I need to stay. I need to be here. What if- what if..." He couldn't make himself continue.

"Go home, Dean. There's nothing you can do here. Do not make me repeat myself again. A police officer will give you a ride home." He motions towards Officer Corbett, who's having a deep conversation with Azazel.

"But-"

"Don't force me to do something you wouldn't want me to do, Dean. I'm not in the mood for arguments. Think about your brother."

He pales staring at Lucifer with wide eyes, unable to believe his ears. It's a staring contest, icy cold blue eyes, so unlike Castiel's warm blue ones against green. This is one fight he'll never win. Clenching his jaws, he storms towards the exit. Fuck Lucifer and his fucking whorehouse. _Fuck._

Fuming into the night sky, it isn't long before Officer Corbett comes out and leads him to a patrol car. He opens the passenger side door and waits for Dean to climb in. He does so and slams the car door shut with a loud bang. He winces. It isn't Officer Corbett's fault that Lucifer is being a dick. He shouldn't take out his anger on the man. 

But boy, does he hate Lucifer's gut so much right now. He couldn't believe that Lucifer would threaten him with Sam! While Castiel is in the hospital no less? He could be dead, and Dean wouldn't even know! Tears prick at the corner of his eyes, and he grabs his thighs hard in case he might hit something. 

The drive back to the home is quiet and tensed, the sky outside getting darker and gloomier by the minute. Officer Corbett seemed to sense that he's not in the mood to talk and had decided to mind his own business. It's probably for the best seeing as he's still stewing in anger, he might bite the poor guy's head off for no reason. 

Watching the streetlights pass in a blur, he can't shut out the bigger louder part of him that's worried sick about Castiel. Is he okay? Is he awake? Is he scared? What if-? He stops himself before he can finish the thought. 

Soon enough, Officer Corbett is pulling up at the home. He undoes his seatbelt, mutters thanks under his breath and gets out of the car. There's a few strange car parked outside. The lights are on inside the house, filtering through the flimsy curtains. He could see shadows moving in one of them. Giving Officer Corbett a curt wave as he pulls away, he walks into the house going straight to his room.

Sam is lying on the bed, books open all around him. When he sees Dean, his face brightens, scrambling up onto his knees.

"Dean! You're back! Did you find Cas?"

"Hey buddy, yeah I did." He walks over to Sam and sits beside him, wrapping him in his arms. "But he is not feeling too well, so he going to be at the doctor's for a while."

"Is he okay?"

He nods. "Yeah, buddy. Cas is tough for a little nerdy dude. He is going to be alright." He lets go of Sam and turns around to fumble in his bedside drawer. Taking out a mp3 player, he holds it out to Sam. "I'm going to work for a little bit. Why don't you listen to some music while you're working on your..." He takes in the mess of books on Sam's bed. "What are you doing anyway?"

"Oh, I'm reading one of Amelia's book. There are a lot of words that I don't understand. So I borrowed a few dictionaries from the others," Sam says sheepishly.

"That's... That's great, Sammy! Attaboy! Always known you're the smart one in the family," he grins, heart swelling with pride. "You've finished the one Ms. Rosen asked you to, right?" Sam nods. "Here, take these," he says, putting the earbuds into Sam's ear.

"But Deeeaann... All you listened to are Metallica, ACDC, and classic rock songs," Sam whines. "They're noises. How could I concentrate like this?"

"Ah shush, what do you know about music? ACDC rocks," he smirks, playing 'Back In Black'. Sam rolls his eyes when the music hits his ears. Taking one earbud out, he instructs, "Now, be a good boy and continue your reading. I'll just be in Cas's room. Be back before you know it. If you need something, come over. But knock first," he adds sternly. Then, he leans over and kisses Sam's forehead, "Love you, buddy."

"I love you too, Dean." Sam sticks the earbud back into his ear and lies down on the bed again, trying to find a comfy position. He smiles down at Sam and pats his head. Sam dodges out of the way, sending him a scowling bitch face. Raising his hands up in a universal sign of surrender, he steps outside the room, closing the door shut.

As he approaches Castiel's room, his body feels heavier with every step he takes. He is going to have to do this in Castiel's room. In his bed. Which would undoubtedly smell like him. His heart clenches again. His heart muscles seem to be having a massive workout today, and he wonders if he's going to go into a cardiac arrest anytime soon. 

17 years old male died of heart attack during a dubious sexual encounter with an older man. That sounds like a winning headline. Cringing at the lame attempt at trying to distract himself, he takes a deep breath and pushes open Castiel's door. A chubby middle age man greets him. 

"About time. What took you so long?" he whines in a childlike voice. 

"I'm sorry, something came up," he starts when the man stands up, already naked except for the tiny white thong peeping out from under his big belly. Wrapping his big arms around Dean, the man gives him a big bear hug, squeezing the air out of him as he almost lifts him up.

"It's okay. You're here now." 

"Gotta... Breath..." Dean wheezes out, falling back onto his feet when the man lets go of him with a sheepish apology.

"Oh and you can call me Cupid." Dean almost rolls his eyes at that. Babies in diapers. Ain't that accurate. Oblivious, Cupid motions to the bed. "Shall we?" Dean stares at his over eager face. Great, he's going to get fucked by someone called Cupid. 

Nodding, he undresses and climbs into Castiel's bed, lying on his stomach. He reaches towards the drawers beside the bed and opens them, searching for the condoms. He spots an analog camera in the bottom drawer. Frowning, he ignores it to grab at the condom packet and throws them on the bed. He digs his face into Castiel's pillow and breathes deeply. Dean relaxes into the familiar scent of the home's fruity shampoo and something else that's just Castiel. A little musky and heady, like Castiel has been sweating into his pillow. His eyes snap open. Castiel probably did, especially if he's been fucked into this bed every night. 

Okay, this is just wrong, breathing in Castiel's sex stench while he is in the hospital, fighting for his life. He doesn't have much time to dwell on it, though because then Cupid drapes himself over him. It's like being squashed by a giant cushion. Not the lightweight cottony cushion. A substantial cushion. A cushion filled with rice. Struggling to breathe, he closes his eyes and hopes that Cupid doesn't last long. 

\---

The hospital is bustling with activities, and the noises are driving him up the wall. Lucifer gets up from where he'd been sitting the past hour and paces the floor, head whirring. He's feeling confused and part perplexed. He wasn't surprised by the rage that had consumed him upon hearing about Castiel. That was to be expected. No, what he doesn't understand was the feeling that came after. The sudden fear. He was worried.

He'd calmed down since, but that fleeting panic about the boy had him concerned. He'd be fooling himself if he said he doesn't feel something for the boy. But he had thought it was purely physical. But this? The alarm he felt. It's disconcerting. 

Why does he care about someone whom he felt this inexplicit desire to hurt? This makes no sense at all. Frustrated, he focuses his excess energy to the source of the problem. Someone had hurt one of his people. That someone had thrown out an open challenge to his authority and power. That someone has got to pay.

Pacing around some more, he sneaks glances at Azazel, who's occupying one of the chairs, busy typing something on his phone. He had wanted to stay in case Castiel wakes up, and he could get a statement from him. 

From the three months he'd known Azazel excluding the one month he'd spent studying him, he thinks he knows the man inside out. Azazel is ambitious and career driven. It didn't take him long after he'd graduated from the Academy to make Lieutenant for the Criminal Division. A great start to a promising career. At least it was until an unfortunate incident involving a misfiring. For a year, he scraped by unnoticed and forgotten.

Then out of the blue, a few years back, he began to solve case after case, closing each case with the success rate of a 100%. It launched him back onto the map and the next few years saw a steady climb in his career. It took him another year and a high profile arrest of the local cartel's second in command that got him into the position of Chief of Police. He doesn't know what kind of devil's deal he'd made with the local gangs, but Lucifer's certain that his success is man-made.

Maybe because of that, Azazel is a control freak. He needs to know everyone and everything that goes on in his city. That's one of the reasons Azazel approached him in the first place. Yes, he may have had eyes on Azazel for some time, but it was the man who made the first move. Noting the changes in the local gangs' chain of commands, the unsolved murders, Azazel can spot an up and comer a mile away. As he stares at Azazel's gaunt face, high cheekbones casting his face in shadows, Lucifer can understand why the man is stressed right now. 

Scrubbing his face with his hands, Lucifer returns his gaze at the clock. The time seems to crawl by. Apart from that one time a nurse asked for his signature for a consent form, he'd heard nothing. From that brief conversation, he'd gathered that Castiel suffered massive internal bleeding and needed to be prep for surgery right away. He had signed the forms without another word. But that had been hours ago, and the waiting is starting to eat at him. 

"I've got you, motherfucker," Azazel exclaims in his breathy gruff voice. Standing up triumphed, Azazel strides towards him with his mobile phone outstretched. "We've got a clear shot of those men that Dean saw. Take a look."

He takes Azazel's mobile phone and stares at the picture of a black man on a Harley. Not recognizing the man, he returns the device. "Do you know who he is?" Azazel shakes his head. "No, he's not familiar to me. I've sent these pictures out to every database and patrol car. If they're still in the city, they won't get far. Alastair's also sending out his feelers. If he finds anything, we'll know."

Nodding, he prays for these men that they've left the city. Because if they're not, they would wish they are. He's good with faces, and he has got this man's face memorized. Good thing too, because once he gets his hands on him, there would be no face left to find.


	10. Chapter 10

"Are you Castiel Novak's guardian?" 

Startled, Lucifer glances up, just only noticing the nurse in front of him. "Castiel is my charge, yes." He stands, nerves jangling. "How is he?"

The nurse is sympathetic when she speaks. "As you might have already known, Castiel has been severely beaten and there were signs of sexual assault. He suffered internal hemorrhage in his brain and anal region. We were able to stop the bleeding with the surgery. There's also a hairline fracture to his left hip as well as a broken nose, and a dislocated jaw. His condition is stable for now, but we will know more after 24 hours. He's awake now, but he's not entirely lucid yet. I'm not sure how much help he can be in term of questioning." She directs the last part at Azazel who'd also stand and is listening closely. 

"Can I see him?" Lucifer asks. 

"Of course, he is on the 3rd floor, Room 3b. Please try not to cause him any more distress. He needs to rest." 

"I understand." The nurse nods and walks away. Before he can say anything else, Azazel announces, "I'm coming," and strides past him towards the elevators bearing no argument. Lucifer rolls his eyes and follows.

\---

Dean is with his third and final client of the night. He is sore. Not all his clients tonight are like Cupid. He will admit that the dude has some issues, but at least, he was gentle with him. He was not afforded that same luxury after Cupid. The one called 'Patrick' wanted him to call him Daddy while he did all sort of despicable things to him. He hoped the man doesn't have a son at home whom he's harboring this sick obsession with. 

Baldur groans as he comes, at long last pulling out of his sore ass. Dean's body is tensed with pain and tired from exhaustion. Castiel's bed is starting to smell heavily of sex and sweat. Any traces of his sweet smelling soap is long gone. Hugging Castiel's pillow, the worry and concern that have been niggling at his consciousness come back at full force. Lucifer hadn't called. The uncertainty turns into fear, crawling over him, prickling him. He fidgets, agitated, the need to do something to quell that dread feeling overpowering. 

There's a rustle of clothing, and he turns to see Baldur pulling on his clothes quietly. Come to think of it, he doesn't really speak much, or at all except for the occasional sex noises. Dean could or did have worse. With Baldur, it feels... Mundane. Boring even. The man comes in, strips and fuck. Very businesslike. Very impersonal. He'll take Baldur over Patrick anytime. 

Now that he's no longer distracted by someone's dick pumping in and out of him, he can hear the patter of the rain outside. Dean pushes himself up and pushes the curtain aside. A lighting flashes followed by the sound of thunder. Adjusting his eyes to the darkness outside, he notices that it's pouring. Rain splashes down onto the streets, creating puddles everywhere. The trees are dancing in the wind sending leaves and twigs flying. 

Dean marvels for a while, mesmerizes by the forces of Mother Nature. This must be what Castiel's referring to. He smiles, then looks down at the pillow he's still clutching. After a moment, he turns to stare up at Baldur, an idea forming in his head.

"Hey, uh... Baldur?" Dean starts, hesitant. Baldur turns dull eyes on him, his fingers busy with the buttons on his shirt. "Do you think you can do me a favor?" Both of Baldur's thick worm-like eyebrows, shoot up, almost disappearing into his hairline. Dean would think it's hilarious if he isn't so nervous. 

"A friend of mine is in the hospital, and I'm really worried about him. I'm wondering if it would be possible if you could erm..." He swallows. "Drive me to the hospital?" When Baldur remains quiet, he licks his lips and tries. "I'll make it worth your while."

Baldur seems to consider this. He finishes buttoning up his shirt and is grabbing his coat when he nods his head towards the door. Heart soaring, Dean shoots out of bed and starts pulling on his jeans and t-shirt, not bothering with his boxers. _He's going to see Castiel!_ He can't believe his luck. It's with much difficulty that he remains unaffected when he feels like he's about to break into a dance. A jiggle. His face muscles twitch as he tries to reel in his grin. 

He follows Baldur to his car parked outside at a run because damn, it's storming hard. When he reaches the car, he pauses, looking at it incredulously, blinking water from his eyes. It's a MINI. Baldur is a big man, robust and thick, very squarish in his feature. He watches as Baldur stuffs himself into the MINI and can't help but lets out an undignified snigger that he quickly covers up with a sudden burst of coughing when Baldur turns his gorilla-like face on him. 

Meekly, he opens the passenger side door and climbs in, noting that he's drenched and most likely making a huge wet stain in the seat. He rubs at his arms unable to stop the slight chatter of his teeth and the goosebumps prickling all over his body. In his rush, he had forgotten his coat. Baldur starts the car, turns up the heater and pulls out the parking spot. 

Sighing as the car starts to warms up, he slips lower into the seat. He closes his eyes and relaxes into the relative quiet of the car, listening to the muffled howls of the wind outside and the soft hum of the engine. God, he's exhausted. Just as he's about to nod off, he's startled awake by a low monotonous voice. "I want you to give me road head." 

Looking to his side, he watches as Baldur keeps his eyes straight on the road, shoulder stiff as his fingers tightens on the steering wheels. The man seems tensed, nervous. Uncomfortable. A passing car drives by and drenches Baldur's face in its headlights. Dean blinks, thinking it's a trick of the light. But no, Baldur _is_ blushing! The man who pays for sex is flustered about having road head. It's absurd. 

Maybe it's not so much the act itself, but the fact that Dean now knows it's a fetish of his that got Baldur red-faced. His own face feels hot as he recalls the one night he spent with a high school senior. Rhonda Hurley. She had made him tried on her panties. They were pink. And satiny. And he liked it. He vowed to take that little tidbit to his grave.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he leans over and unzips Baldur's slack. As he pushes Baldur's brief down, he's surprised to see that the man is already supporting a chub. Impressive, seeing as he'd just came not ten minutes ago. He teases the head and massages his balls with his hands. 

In no time at all, Baldur is panting through his nose, thighs shaking. For a moment there, he's afraid they're going to crash, but when he looks up, Baldur's eyes are still trained on the road. He searches around in the glove compartment, criticizing himself for forgetting the condoms, sighing in relief when he found some. Without hesitating, he rolls the condom on.

The condom's the non-flavored kind, and it tastes horrible. He's busy bobbing his head when someone honks their horn. Baldur comes with a grunt. Dean pulls back and tucks Baldur's softening dick in his briefs and zips him up. 

Dean's mouth and chin are slick with drool, and he grabs the collar of his t-shirt to wipes it off. Baldur is still sitting straight and watching the road. The only difference being is his face is now flushed and eyes bright from his orgasm. Dean leans back into his seat once more, eyes staring out at the storming night, the streaks of water dashing across the glass window.

_I'm coming, Cas. Wait for me._

\---

The sounds of beeping is loud in his ears. Everything is dark. He's feeling fuzzy, groggy like he's stuffed full of cotton. His breathing is slow, and every breath seems to take too much effort. His body feels like lead, heavy and weighing a ton. When he tries to move his fingers, they twitch a little. He tries wriggling his toes, not sure if they'd even moved, just feels a tingling sensation. Why is everything so dark? Did someone turn off the lights? 

It takes him awhile before he realizes that his had eyes close. He tries opening them, his eyelids fluttering. Sharp, bright light assaults him, and he closes his eyes immediately, groaning as he turns his face to the side, stopping when the movement causes him to feel sick. His face hurts. Now that he is getting more aware, it seems like everything hurt. Not a sharp kind of pain, more like a dull throb. He moans his discomfort. The sound is hardly audible. His mouth feels dry and his throat raw. Slowly, he lifts his eyelids once more. 

Everything looks blurry for a moment. He blinks. Once. Twice. Squints a little before everything comes into focus. There is a machine beside him. So that's what was making the annoying beeping sound. He glares at it grumpily. Then, he looks down at himself. He is lying in a bed surrounded by what looks like a shower curtain. He frowns. He tries to sit up but decides against it when pain explodes down the back of his spine. He lies still for a while, eyes closed as he waits for the pain to subside.

Where is he? What the hell happened? He tries to think but his head hurts too much, and he gives up. He's so tired. Everything feels like too much effort. His breathing evens out. It's time to rest now.

The jingles from the metal rings holding the shower curtain up disturb his peace. He opens his eyes and blinks up at the man standing at the foot of his bed. The man is staring at him with a solemn expression, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. He looks familiar. He frowns as the man walks towards him and seated himself onto the chair by his bedside. He hadn't even notices the chair there before.

"How are you feeling, Cassie?" the man asks in a soft voice. 

Cassie. Is that his name? Cassie? He turns the name over and over in his head, repeating it to himself. Cassie... Cassie... _You're always so good for me, Cassie._ An image of the man wrapping him up in his arms, kissing him softly on his lips flickers through his mind. The feeling of being romanced and seduced accompany the memory. He warms up to the man immediately when suddenly a myriad of images flashes pass, quick and unrelenting, memories coming back to him in sharp focus. Vicious and cruel. Merciless and violent. 

Azazel. The parties. The men. _The bench._ Each memory strikes him like a whip, hitting Castiel hard and fast, leaving a sting like a burn behind. His vision begins to blur, and someone starts sobbing. A heart-wrenching sort of cry. He searches the room, trying to find the source of it and realizes that they are coming from him. Tears leak out the corner of his eyes, seeping into his hair and staining the pillow. 

"Hey hey... Cassie, shhh..." Lucifer says, wiping the tears away with his thumb. "It's okay. You're safe now, Cassie," he soothes. More tears flood down Castiel's face. "Shhhh... There's no need to cry... I'm here. You're safe," he says again. 

Castiel doesn't know why he's crying, why he couldn't stop crying. Seeing Lucifer now, it's like a veil had been lifted. The memories burn strongly behind his eyes. He can see it so clearly now. The subtle changes. The kindness, the charm, the promises. The subsequent favors, requests, demands. He chokes in the knowledge as he stares at the man he'd loved and watches as everything he thought he knew shatters into pieces around him. It's like he's stepping through the looking glass and sees reality for what it is. 

From the very beginning, it had all been a ploy to manipulate him. Trick him. Use him. Lucifer had never loved him. He's never cared. It had all been a lie. False promises. How did he not see? Had he been so blinded all these time? Or was he so pathetic, so desperate for love, he hid behind the smokescreen of self denial? His body hurts, but it's nothing like how he's hurting inside. So he keeps crying. He cries for the loss of something he never had. Because no matter what Lucifer feels for him, Castiel had loved and lost. He cries for the boy he used to be. Cries for his naivety, his innocence; tossed into a world so cruel he couldn't begin to understand. 

"Cassie, stop crying. You're just going to hurt yourself further," Lucifer demands, voice hard. More tears pour out of his blue eyes, but he's quiet now, mouth tight as he tries to hold his sobs in. Lucifer sighs. "Cassie, do you know who did this to you?"

Castiel lets out a pitiful whine as tears fall in earnest now, soaking the right side of his pillow. His breathing starts to hitch as he struggles to breathe. The machine starts beeping frantically, each beep resounding loudly in his ears. His body begins to tremble, shaking so hard the bed starts to rattles. 

Lucifer stands up in alarm as another man rushes to his bed. Azazel. Honeyed sweet voice. Gentle touches. _Unwanted_ touch. Seeing him there, at the foot of his bed sends Castiel into a panic attack. He couldn't breathe, staring with wide frighten eyes at Azazel, gripping and pulling at the sheets. Everything seems so large, so loud. His head is spinning. Lucifer is shouting something at Azazel, and the man retreats behind the curtain. 

Still staring at the space Azazel's left behind, Castiel startles as Lucifer's hands clamp onto his shoulders, leaning low and putting his face right in his personal space. Lucifer seems to be saying something, but Castiel couldn't hear anything apart from the beeps and _them_. The chorus of jeers and laughter. It hurts. Everything starts to blurs, and he could taste the blood in his mouth. The bitter taste of semen. The rough hands on his body. And the pain. Pure unadulterated pain. 

Castiel can feel the bile at the back of his throat, threatening to come up. His body jerks and he is leaning over the railing of his bed, vomiting. He pukes until there is nothing left to barf. He coughs and splutters, hacking out a stomach as he dry heaves. His vision is blurry, and he is sweating even though he feels cold. He collapses back on the bed, closing his eyes. He feels so weak. His body is shutting down. Right before he passes out, he manages to whisper. "Gordon... They called him Gordon." Then, everything goes black.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean mutters his thanks and gets out the MINI at a run, heading straight for the entrance of the hospital. Blinking water from his eyes, he stuffs his hands into the pocket of his jeans, hunches up his shoulders and stamps his feet. Fuck, it's cold. He peers inside through the huge rotating glass doors. Now that he's here, he isn't sure what to do. He hesitates, biting his lips and thinks.

Okay, first, he needs to know where Castiel is. Or what happened to him. He doesn't think hospital allows visitors at this hour. So he'll have to figure a way out to find Castiel. Would it looks suspicious if he just go right up ahead and asks at the counter? He doesn't want to get busted. He didn't blow Baldur just to be sent home. What to do? Dean licks his lips, wracking his brain for ideas as he peers inside. Everywhere Dean sees a patient or two strolling about, some talking to nurses, some dragging their IV drip with them. 

Green eyes light up. That's it! Dean takes a deep breath and pushes through the rotating doors. The waiting area is still busy at this time of night. Enough people are loitering around that no one is paying much attention to him. Good. That is exactly what he needs. Faking nonchalance, he walks down and away from the people, slipping into one of the hallways that lead to God knows where, eyes peering into each room as he passes, twice surreptitiously trying the closed doors. He just needs to find the- AHA! 

Dean sneaks into the supply closet, closes the door behind him and squints. It's too dark. He fumbles around for the light switch, blinking when he flips it. There are various items on the shelves. Dean scrounges through the small cartons lining the racks. Medical gloves. Nope. Syringes. Nope. Tapes. Nope. Where are they? He crouches down and spots a stack of boxes on the floor, underneath the last shelf and opens it. Hospital gowns. Yes! Dean steps out of his shoes and peels off his socks. Then, he pulls his damp shirt over his head and wriggles out of his jeans. 

Gathering his shoes, he hides them behind a cleaning bucket in the corner. He folds his clothes into a neat pile and place them in one of the empty boxes. Then, running his fingers through his hair trying to fluff out some of the wetness in them, Dean plasters a smile on his face. He hopes this will work. Plastering himself against the door, he listens. Hearing nothing but silence and the distant murmurs, he opens it a crack. He sneaks out and closes the door behind him. Okay, now the hard part. He just needs to- WHAM!

A solid body bumps into him. Hard. He's sent flying backward onto his ass, the cold tile floor freezing against his naked ass. Combined with how sore he is, it's not a pleasant feeling. He hisses. And that's when he notices the nurse who's also sprawled on the ground opposite him, her clipboard and pen clattering away, a stunned look on her face before it's quickly replaced by concern.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I didn't see you! Did I hurt you?" She rushes over to Dean, helping him up. 

"Don't apologize. It's my fault. I wasn't looking where I was going," he says, a sheepish smile on his face. "I'm lost." The nurse is not convinced, fussing over him. She is quite pretty, with big brown doe eyes and long wavy black hair. He blushes when she circles behind him, very conscious of his bare ass. When she faces him again, he gives her a hesitant, shy smile.

"Hey, don't worry about it. Where are you heading to anyway? You know, we provide the call button for a purpose. You shouldn't be wandering around by yourself," she scolds, in the way a mom would. She bends down to pick up the clipboard and pen. Flipping her hair back, she cocks an eyebrow at Dean, who's awkwardly shuffling his bare feet. She smiles. "Come on, let me bring you back to your room. What's your room number? Oh, I'm Lisa by the way."

"I'm Dean. Um... I'm actually looking for my friend. I heard he was admitted today, and I was worried," he mumbles, chin tucked in. Then, trying to channel Sam's puppy dog eyes, he stares up at Lisa. "I just wanted to see him. I need to know if he's okay. I can't sleep not knowing."

Lisa's eyes soften. "I'm sorry to hear about your friend." She purses her lips, then asks. "What's his name?"

"Castiel. Castiel Novak," he answers, his heart quickening in his chest.

"Alright, let me see what I can do for you." Lisa motions for him to follow her and he does so immediately. She approaches the reception area, drops off her clipboard and leans over the desk to whisper to her colleague, the two of them glancing back at him. Dean's heart is beating wildly. He isn't sure if the ruse will work. He watches as the nurse behind the desk starts typing on her computer. A spark of hope blossoms in his chest. She mutters something to Lisa who nods and walks back to Dean. 

"I can't tell you much about his condition since he's not a family member but I can say that he is out of surgery and recuperating." Upon noticing Dean's palpable sigh of relief, she adds. "You can visit him tomorrow. He's on the third floor, room 3b." In a stern voice she continues, "But for now, go to bed. You both need your rest. Deal?" She holds out her hand. 

"Deal," he says, shaking her hand. Dean feels bad for lying, but he needs to see Castiel. Plus, he isn't a patient here and therefore has no room to go back to. Despite Lisa's reassurance, he still couldn't shake off the residual fear and panic. The images of Castiel covered in blood, motionless and still, so close to Death's door keeps him on edge. Unsettled. Urgent. He knows he won't be able to rest until he sees it for himself that Castiel is okay. That Dean hadn't lost him. 

Smiling wide, Lisa mock-scolds. "Now go up to your room before I kick your ass." She makes a shooing motion with her hands and Dean smiles. "Thank you so much for your help, Lisa. It means a lot," he says, grateful. The day's exhaustion is begining to weigh down on Dean. The sudden relief and Lisa's kindness is the last straw. Unable to stop it, a slew of emotion washes over him. His eyes start to well up, and Dean clenches his jaw trying to prevent them from falling. 

"Hey, hey... What's with the waterworks? Dean, I'm glad that I could help." Putting her hands on his shoulder, she massages his neck with her thumbs and fore fingers. She looks him in the eyes and cracks a smile. It's kind and gentle. Somehow, she reminds Dean of his mom. 

Without thinking, he wraps his arms around her waist, pulls her in and hugs her, nuzzling his head at the juncture where neck meets shoulder. To her credit, Lisa takes his breakdown like a champ, staying silent and hugs him back, patting his head. They stand like that for awhile before Dean pulls away, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands. 

"Sorry. It's just been a long day," he mumbles, not daring to look at Lisa. The knots in his chest loosen a little but now he's feeling hot in the cheeks. He can't believe he broke down like that and basically force-hug this nice lady. 

"It's fine," Lisa says, her hands still on his shoulder. She gives him a light squeeze and let go. "Go and get some rest, Dean. You'll feel better after a good night's sleep. Trust me, my son, Ben is a grumpy little thing when he doesn't get enough naps," she huffs, smiling. 

"You have a son?" Dean asks voice only a tinge rough. At Lisa's nod, he adds. "He must be real lucky to have you as his mom." Lisa blushes. Then, she gestures to herself. "Single working mom. Night shifts." She exhales. "I try." Her eyes look tired. He can see the subtle lines on her young face, and he feels a pang.

"You tried. And that's all that matters," he says sincerely, feeling the words ring true. The corner of Lisa's lips turns up. Dean glances towards the elevator. "I better get back. Don't want you to get in trouble." He starts to walk away when Lisa's fingers around his wrist stop him. He turns around, confused. 

"If you need anything, anything at all, Dean don't be afraid to ask. Get well soon." She gives Dean one last bright smile and waves, walking back to her colleagues. 

With a small smile on his face, Dean presses the button to go up by the elevator. As he stares at the small blinking light descent from the fifth floor, the smile on his face falters. Something about what Lisa had said niggles at him. It's not like he's scared to ask for help, he's afraid for those he asked help from. 

He's new in town. He doesn't know anybody. He doesn't know who to trust. The last time he even hinted at something, his guidance counsel got the ax. Lisa had been kind to him. The last thing he wants is for her to get mess up in his shit.

He had thought about running before. Many times. But what can a teenager with a six years old do? With no money, just the clothes on his back, he couldn't run far. And then what? He hasn't even graduate high school. What the fuck can he do? He'll end up on the streets in no time. And what about Sam? He's only six. He needs a home. School. Stability. Everything Dean can't provide. So his best choice is to stay put. He'll be eighteen in five months. That's a long ass time. It's only been three weeks, and he can already feel himself disintegrating, bit by bit. How far can he go before he loses himself entirely?

The elevator dings and the doors slides open. Dean stumbles in, shoulder slouched and presses the button with the number three on it. He leans back and watches the blip of light travels from one button to the next. The thought that he'll have to whore himself out for another five months is depressing. 

But it's not just that. It feels like he's balancing on the precipice of safety and death. He couldn't give two shit what happens to him. But every moment he stays at the home, he's gambling Sam. How much longer before Lucifer caves and gives in to Alastair's demands? The son of a bitch had been heavily hinting. What is he going to do when they decide to sell Sam? Dean wouldn't be able to protect Sam, and it would be too late to do anything. The thought terrifies him.

The elevator dings again, and he steps out. Looking around, he follows the sign that say 1-5 with a small arrow beside it pointing to the right. When he comes across the number 3 sign, he turns into the hallways. His hearts quickens as he passes room 3a. There are fives rooms in this hallway. Two on the right and three on the left. Castiel's room is the one at the end on the right. Feeling slightly nauseated from nerves, Dean turns the doorknob and enters.

It's a two person's room with a large glass window at the back. Dean could hear the rain splattering against the windows as the storm continues outside. The curtains to the beds are drawn, the beep of monitors loud in the almost silent room. Hesitating for only a moment, he tiptoes to the first bed. Peering through the gap in the curtain, he notices a skinny young boy with blond hair curling around his face.

Stepping back, he approaches the other bed, his bare feet silent on the tiled floor. His fingers feel numb. There's a light tremble to them, and he clenches his fists before pushing the curtain aside. Slipping inside, he turns around, his back towards Castiel and closes the curtain. He closes his eyes and breathes in steadily, his forehead touching the plastic curtain. In his mind, he counts to three. One, two, three. He opens his eyes and turns around. Then, he stares. And stares.

Castiel is lying in the hospital bed, hooked onto a multitude of wires. He looks so small and fragile, covers up to his chin, his arms resting atop them, by his side. Bruises littered his body or at least the part he could see anyway. Greenish black spots marred his pale skin, along his arm, and around his wrists. There's a bandage on the side of his neck and what looks like finger-shaped bruises. Dean swallows the lump in his throat.

He slips into the chair by the bed, leaning forward onto his knees. Castiel's hair is sticking up everywhere around the white bandage on his head. He seems to be asleep, dreaming, his thick lashes fluttering against his cheekbones. His heart clenches as he takes in Castiel's face.

The swelling around his eyes had subsided, but they still look painful. There's a bandage on his nose too, and the bruises around it look the same. Purple reddish. His eyes fall on Castiel's lips. The soft lips he'd kissed just last night. It's split in some places and chapped. 

Feeling the now very familiar sting in his eyes, he rubs at his face then pinches the bridge of his nose. Goddammit! He's a freaking crybaby today, isn't he? He squeezes his eyes shut and feels the tears rolls down his cheeks. He can't help the soft whine that comes out. He stays like that for a moment, trying to regain his composure. When he's certain he's not going to break down crying again; he opens his eyes and freezes. Inky blue eyes are staring right at him.

\---

Lucifer slams the front door shut with a loud bang. He doesn't care if it'll wake the children up, he's livid. Castiel had woken up terrified, and no matter how much he tried to placate him, the boy wouldn't stop crying. For some reason, that grated on his nerves. His presence alone should have calm Castiel. But instead, Castiel had looked at him with such profound sadness, betrayal that Lucifer felt his hackles raised, his defense stacked up.

Unable to deal with the shattered look directed at him, Lucifer changed tactics. He wanted to know more about the assault anyway. But that's when Castiel _freaked_. He almost went into a cardiac arrest from how fast his heart had been beating, the beeps on the machine went at a galloping pace. The doctor and nurses managed to stabilize him, but it had been a close call. 

Of course then, they had both been kicked out. Reprimanded and admonished. Temper flying high but not wanting to cause more of a scene, Lucifer had taken his leave. Now that he's home, he wants to break things. He glares at the empty living room. It's passed midnight and the clients he scheduled tonight are long gone. The children should be asleep. He strips off his coat and throws it onto the couch. He needs to vent out his anger.

If it were an ordinary night, he would have reach out to Castiel. The boy has a calming effect on him. But at the same time, he also incites this hatred in him. A dark, ugly, twisted thing that writhes around inside him waiting to strike. He doesn't wish to dwell on these feelings too much, knowing the can of worms that would open. And he's not equipped to deal with that. He can't. Not yet. So he buries them deep and let his instincts play.

Gordon. Castiel's last word before he passed out was Gordon. Before they left, Azazel had gone to see the medical personnel who had performed the rape kit on Castiel. According to her, there were semen in and on his body and judging from the quantity, she estimated it to be from multiple donors. She also found defensive wounds on Castiel's arms and skins fiber from under his nails, all of which she had collected and sent to the lab for analysis. Unfortunately, it will take a day or two before results will be back and then it'll be another long wait to see if they'll match anyone on CODIS. Right now, their only lead is the name. Gordon.

Azazel had promised to run Gordon's name through the database. With this degree of violence, he's convinced the man would have a record somewhere. If the MO matched any opened or closed cases, they would know. They have a picture of him as well, so it will make identifying him easy. Azazel also sent word to Alastair to inquire about the name Gordon on the streets. But again, all these will also take time. And that's what pisses Lucifer most right now. The fact that some fucker assaulted Castiel, and there is nothing he can do about it but wait around, fiddling his thumbs. 

He storms into his office, determined to do some digging himself. He has sources. He could find that bastard. He slams the door open, the distant light from the hallway casting a weak beam into the dark room. Unbuttoning the first two buttons of his shirt, he flips on the light switch. And his heart stops.

Sitting behind his desk is a man. He is staring up at Lucifer with sparkling blue eyes beneath long black lashes. His lips curl up into a small smirk, raven black hair a stark contrast to his creamy pale skin. In his hand is a Colt with a silencer on it, pointing straight at Lucifer's heart.

"Hello, Lucifer."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end note for fanart.

Castiel stares up into familiar green eyes that seem to dance and shimmer in the dim light. They're rimmed red and puffy like Dean had been crying. His eyes wanders to the dried tear tracks on his cheeks. Dean _was_ crying, he realizes, shocked. Why? A singsong taunt starts up in his head. _Pop goes the weasel!_ Castiel lowers his eyes, burning with shame.

His lips start to tremble, and he can't hold Dean's gaze any longer. He feels vulnerable, exposed. He doesn't want Dean to see him like this. Stripped bare and tore open. The evidence of abuse clear as day on his skin. Beaten, used and left for dead. Nothing but trash. And now Dean knows. Knows just how disposable he is. Tears prickles at his eyes and he's about to duck his head when he notices Dean's clothes.

Or lack of one. He's wearing a hospital gown, very much like the one he had on. Concern and worry trump over any doubts and insecurities he may be feeling. He pushes himself up but stumbles when a sharp pain shoots up his spine and his world spins. Overwhelmed with a sudden crippling dizziness, he collapses back onto the bed, gasping. His vision blurs. He squeezes his eyes shut.

There are hands on him and he hears words, but they sound far away, underwater, distorted. The firm grip on his shoulders are a reassuring weight, grounding him. Once the wooziness in his head clears, he opens his eyes. Dean is leaning over him, face so close he can feel his breath puffing on his face. 

"Dean..." he whispers. 

"Cas," Dean whispers back, a sense of urgency in his voice. "You scared the crap out of me." Dean tries to go for stern, but Castiel can hear the crack in his voice. He squints up at Dean, disoriented before remembering. "Dean, are you hurt? Did something happened to you?" he asks, his voice a deep gravel, hoarse. He tries clearing his throat, swallowing around saliva that are barely there.

Dean noticed, and he takes the glass of water by his bed and positions the straw in his mouth. Grateful, he sucks and relishes at the feel of cool water saturating his mouth and down his throat. He drinks, eyes closed, letting out a small sigh as he releases the straw with a soft pop. A trickle of water drips down the corner of his mouth, rolling down the side of his throat. Dean stares at it, transfixed before lifting his eyes to settle on his lips. When a second too long goes by, Dean startles and flushes, averting his eyes guiltily as he places the glass back on the bedside table. 

"Thank you, Dean," he says, feeling much better but still worried, his eyebrows furrowed. "Dean," he hesitates, then "Please tell me you're alright."

Dean's eyes widen and then he huffs, his face just a little broken. "Fuck, Cas..." He shakes his head, still close enough that Castiel could see the smattering of freckles on his face. He looks pale, exhausted. "Only you," he says. "Only you can be worried about someone else when you're the one lying in a hospital bed after almost-" His voice cracks. "You almost died, Cas," Dean chokes out, staring at him with desperate eyes. 

He stares back at Dean, eyes wide and frightened. He remembered wishing he was dead. He remembered begging for them to kill him. He had wanted to die. He thought he did.

"Cas..." Dean lifts up a hand and places it gently against his cheek, stroking a thumb against the scruff there. "Don't you ever do that again. I can't-" He breaks off again, clear his throat and tries once more. "I can't lose you. Please don't make me lose you too." Tears well up in those forest green eyes and Castiel feels his own tears coming. 

"I'm sorry," he croaks out.

"Cas..." Dean groans frustrated, squeezing his eyes shut. "Why are you apologizing?"

"I don't know," he answers truthfully. Then, he hazards a guess. "Because I made you cry?"

Dean snorts. "Do you even know why I'm crying?"

Castiel stares at Dean's open face, so earnest, so sincere it hurts. Because what he's implying, it cannot be true. He doesn't dare to hope, but he does anyway. His heart thuds a heavy beat. Mouth tight, he shakes his head.

"I'm the one who found you, you know," Dean says, his voice soft in the small room. Intimate.

Castiel's eyes widen. He's so confused. Thinking back, he doesn't remember how he came to be at the hospital. He had thought Lucifer was the one who had found him. That he came searching for him when he missed Chastity's appointment. But here is Dean, telling him otherwise. "But- how?" Maybe Lucifer sent Dean instead, not bothering at all. The thought saddens him.

"You never gave me a chance to explain myself." At Dean's answer, he's feeling more confused than ever. Tilting his head, he waits for Dean to continue. "What you said this afternoon. It's not true. You're not to blame for what happened, Cas and I need you to know that."

His heart constricts painfully. He shakes his head, looking away. "Dean..."

"No, Cas, I searched the whole house for you! And when Lucifer told me where you were-" He sighs. "Why?" he asks. When Castiel doesn't answers, he continues. "Why do you have such a low opinion on yourself? Why do you think you deserve to be alone and friendless? You walked away before I can tell you. I still want to be your friend, Cas." Castiel looks up at that, eyes wide in shock.

A nervous, unsure expression flits through Dean's face. Almost like he's insecure. But then, they harden, determined, and he plows on. "Cas, when I entered the restroom, and I found you..." Dean rubs a hand over his mouth, "Lying in a pool of your blood, unresponsive. It scared the shit out of me." His voice is tremulous, shaky. "I thought you were dead. And at that moment, I knew." He trails off. 

"Knew what?" His own voice is barely above a whisper. It feels like he's standing at the edge of something huge, something big. And it's either going to save him or crush him. 

"That what I felt for you had changed."

The words hit him hard. After all that Dean had said, about how his perception of Castiel hadn't change, how he still wants to be his friend, it's all for naught because of what happened to him. And he did this to himself. If he hadn't went to the truck stop in the first place... Castiel closes his eyes and almost laugh. Almost. 

So this is how it feels like to fall. Castiel feels like he's falling into a bottomless pit, the certainty of death that never comes. The bereft feeling is never ending. It was stupid of him to hope. He doesn't know why his heart never got the memo. There's a brush of fingers underneath his chin, tilting his head up.

"It became something more. Something so much more." Dean's eyes are shining, intense and serious. Castiel opens his mouth; he wants to say something, but nothing comes out, heart stuck in his throat. Then, Dean pulls away and stands. 

Panicked, Castiel's throat unstuck, and he blurts out, "Where are you going?" 

Dean gives him a small smile and walks toward the other side of his bed, pushing the curtain surrounding one side of his bed aside. A flash of lightning lights up the room, followed by the distance rumble a moment later. His eyes glue to the spectacle outside. At the rain lashing at the window, droplets accumulating on the glass, each one reflecting the soft light in the room. Another lighning flashes, illuminating the night sky. This high up, with no buildings or tree blocking the view, Castiel could see form of the lighning, spreading out like tree roots in the sky. He feels the corner of his lips curls up, lost in the display.

The bed dips on one side. Dean is sitting on the bed near his stomach, staring out the window with a small smile. Instead of freckles, his face is now littered with little round circles, shadows of the droplet littering the glass window. It's scattered everywhere, from his face down his neck to the plain hospital gown. He looks so serene and peaceful like this. 

Dean turns his face towards him and smirks. "I promised you the next time it rains; we're going on a date. Well, since you clearly aren't going anywhere, I thought I bring the date to you. It's pretty last minute, and I didn't have time to plan it. There's no blanket fort or hot chocolates," he trails off looking sheepish. "I hope you don't mind that it's just little old me. And the storm of course."

Again, Castiel is stunned speechless. Is Dean proposing what Castiel thinks he is proposing? Is this Dean asking him out on a date? _Are they on a date?_ His head is spinning so fast, his heart thumping so loud he's sure Dean could hear them. His foolish heart is inching towards hope again. Breathless, he stammers out. "Dean, I- I don't understand." 

Tilting his head up towards the ceiling, Dean expels an explosive sigh. "God, you're going to make me spell this out for you word for word, aren't you?"

"If you don't mind," he says, unable to tame the flames of something inside him. Licking and taunting him. Dean inhales deeply before dropping his head down to look at him. His gaze is sharp, searching. Castiel doesn't know what he's looking for, so he stares back, head tilted and brow furrowed, and waits. After what seems like forever, Dean's eyes steeled with a resolved. Turning his body to face Castiel, Dean takes his hands into his. 

"Cas, I like you. In fact, if I'm going to go all teenage girl here on you, I'll even say I like _like_ you." Castiel's heart stutters. "A lot. And before you tell me it's impossible, we only knew each other a few weeks, barely even talking then- Well, shut up and hear me out. I've been crushing on you for awhile now. From the moment, I laid eyes on you. Almost two months ago." Castiel's eyes widen. "I'm not stupid. I know what a crush is, and I admit I was first drawn by your blue eyes, your smile, your bedhead. Point is, I was attracted, but I didn't know you. Not then."

Dean looks hurt as he continues. "I would see bruises on you and I don't know where they're from. I thought they were from bullies and I ended up following you around. You were so oblivious, you didn't even realize. Then, one morning, I saw you with Lucifer. I thought he was just an abusive boyfriend, but a few weeks later, I came to the home and what I saw was worse than I thought, I got to a see a part of you that I've never seen before. Or anticipated."

"I didn't understand," Dean says shaking his head. "Why you would just take it. I thought you were just too broken. But the last two days shows me something different. That night at the club, after we- You protected me. You took the burnt of the night. You did all that without asking anything in return. You're not broken. You're too good. And this morning, being in your company, seeing the world the way you do, talking to you- I did get to know you. The real you. Not some imaginary version of you I concocted in my head. And the person I saw, is someone strong. Brave. Capable of so much love and forgiveness, it's beautiful," he whispers as Castiel clings desperately to Dean's every word. 

"After you left today, I beat myself up for not stopping you. I couldn't get you out of my head. I kept replaying what you said, replaying what we did, what we shared. And I know I can't let you go another second feeling guilty for crap that isn't your fault to begin with. I know I'm acting like a lovesick teenage girl but crap, I like it. I like how thinking about you can make me smile. How every look you throw my way can make me blush like a virgin. How hearing you laugh makes my heart sings. And how much I want to be the one to put that smile on your face and laughter in your eyes. And how much it pains me to see you hurt," Dean's voice cracks. 

"And you were hurt. And I wasn't there. I wasn't there to stop it. I failed you, Cas and all I can do was pray, beg to be given a second chance. A chance to tell you how I feel. A chance for us." Dean is looking at him with such raw longing in his eyes. The meaning of what he said finally dawns on him. He squeezes Dean's hand, feels the solidness of it, feels the warmth and assures himself that this is real. Dean is here. And he is telling him all this. 

Slowly, Dean leans in close until their foreheads is touching and closes his eyes. "I love you, Cas," he whispers like a confession. "And you don't have to do anything with that. I just needed you to know." A tear drop falls from Dean's closed lashes onto Castiel's cheek. Letting go of Dean's hand, he brings both hands up to hold Dean's face, coaxing him to open his eyes. When he did, it's like staring into the sun. As he gazes into the fiery green depth, he knows that every word rings true. 

For the first time that night, Castiel breaks into a smile. Then, he lets out a choked-off laugh, smiling so wide his lips split open again, a bubble of blood blossoming. But he doesn't care. Dean said he loves him. This sweet kind loving man loves him. _Castiel._ He thinks he can fly.

"Dean..." The name sounds so right in his mouth, the way it rolls off his tongue, an exhale that is familiar. "I don't know what to say. But I'm really happy," he expresses, his voice shaky with emotion. Still clutching Dean's face, their nose almost touching, he clears his throat. "And I think, I'm falling for you too, Dean. Hard and fast. And it's not stopping."

Dean pulls back, not far, just so he could stare down at Castiel, his face disbelieving. "You do?" he chokes out, surprised. "What about Lucifer? I thought-" At the mention of Lucifer, his smile falters. Dean stops, lets his sentence hang, expression unsure. 

"I loved Lucifer. I did," he stresses, needing Dean to understand. "But is it love when it's only one-sided? Is it love when he used what we had against me?" He lets go of Dean's face and retreats in on himself, turning his face away to look out the window. "I've been so blind. I couldn't see or maybe I didn't want to see."

"Dean, you're right the first time around. I'm a mess. I'm broken. I'm not who I used to be. The Castiel before this was shy. Introvert. Reserved. But he always had this optimism. This light in him. I'm not him anymore. I don't know if I can ever feel that way again. What Lucifer did, it broke something in me. I'm not like you, Dean. I'm not a fighter. He took and he took and now there's barely anything left. You deserve someone better than the shell of the person I used to be."

The rain continues to pour, filling the room with their patters. He hugs himself, tears welling in his eyes. "When they-" His voice cracks. "When they did things to me, they were telling me all these things. Things about me. Horrible things. And they weren't wrong." He laughs a bitter sound. "How can you rape a whore?" The tears spill over, and he wipes them away with the back of his hands. Staring up at Dean, he voices out the brutal truth. "How can you love someone who doesn't love himself?"

"Cas, hey. Don't think like that. I'm a whore too. Does that mean I can't be raped?"

Horrified, he answers without hesitation. "Of course not."

Dean's face soften. "Then why is it not the same for you?"

Frustrated, he grips the sheets. "Because I didn't fight it, Dean! I let it happened."

Dean grabs his wrist and holds it up, motioning to the number of cuts and bruises on them. "What is this then? I know defensive wounds when I see them, Cas. You fought."

Snatching his wrist back, he glares at them. "Doesn't matter." Feeling spiteful, he looks Dean straight in the eyes and with a bitter smile on his face, he adds. "They all had a turn anyway. Even came back for more." When Dean's face falls, he wants to retract those words right away but he didn't. Too stubborn. He does averts his gaze though. "That's not what I was referring to, and you know it."

"Lucifer manipulated you! He used your feelings for him and twisted it into something... Wrong. You said so yourself!" When he still refuses to look at Dean, he leans down until they're eye-level and catches his eyes. Their eyes locked. "You and I, we're not so different. I might have fought initially, but I gave up. Do you know why?" Brows furrowing, he shakes his head. "Because of Sam."

"See, you didn't fight because you loved Lucifer. And I stopped fighting because I love Sam. Our reasons are one and the same. So if you don't blame me, you shouldn't blame yourself either."

Castiel has been feeling nauseated ever since this conversation started, his gut churning, twisting into a tight ball like a cloth being wrung of its water, leaving him feeling dry and but not empty. No, he's filled with to the brim with darkness. Sadness, regret, pain and worst of all- guilt. An overwhelming sense of guilt that threatens to drown him. But now, he can feel something else trickling in. Something like hope. And something else. A note of forgiveness. For himself. A possibility for redemption. A way out of this vicious circle he had put himself in. And Dean was the one to give it to him.

"Dean..." There are not enough words in the English language to express the enormity of his gratitude. It feels like he can breathe again. The weight he's been carrying around with him these past months finally lifted. He feels like he's able to move forward, dare to see better things for himself. Dare to believe that maybe, he too deserve to be loved and can be loved. So instead, he stares up at Dean and utters the two words he knows would have to do. "Thank you."

"Don't sweat it, Cas," he smiles, eyes soft and tender, brimming with affection. A look that no one had thrown his way before and Castiel finds himself overwhelmed. The good sort. Before he can think too much about it, he finds himself blurting. "Can we kiss?"

"Do you need to ask?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

"Well, in that case. Yes," Dean whispers, smirking as he leans down and presses his soft lips against his chapped ones. Castiel closes his eyes. It's a light kiss. Chaste. And the brush of contact sends him into a tingly mess. From the tip of his ears all the way down to toes. They both lets out a small exhale, lips still touching.

Grinning, he opens his eyes and is met with Dean's happy ones. "That was nice. Can we do that again?" Dean asks, his lips brushing against his as he whispers. Eyes crinkling with how hard he's smiling, Castiel nods. He can feel Dean's lips curl up into a smile as he deepens the kiss, Castiel letting out an undignified moan into it. 

After a while, Dean pulls back. "As much as I want to kiss that lips of yours swollen, you need to rest." He jumps off the bed, ignoring Castiel's whine of protest. Then, he turns around and fusses over him, tucking the covers around him nice and warm. Once he is satisfied with his handiwork, he mumbles. "Go to sleep, Cas. I'll be right here with you." He settles back into the chair and props his legs up on Castiel's bed, his hands crossed over his chest. Smiling at Castiel, he coos. "Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite."

Laughing, he settles into the bed comfortably. "I'm not a six years old, Dean."

"Could have fooled me. You look all small and angelic tucked into bed like that," he teases. Castiel rolls his eyes, shaking his head fondly. Then, he sneaks his hand out from under the covers and lays them with his palm facing upwards. Without skipping a beat, Dean slides his hands into his, giving him a little squeeze. They stare at each other until one by one, their eyes slide shut, and their soft snores add to the ambiance of the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart: [I Love You](http://trenchcoatandimpala.tumblr.com/post/145465864698/its-a-terrible-life-chapter-5-i-love-you)


	13. Chapter 13

"Michael."

The blue-eyed man smirks. "You look good for a dead man." Michael's eyes are intent on Lucifer's face, his hands steady as they rest on top of the table. The muzzle of the Colt trained at his chest. He looks relaxed, laid back in Lucifer's chair. 

Lucifer narrows his eyes at Michael, his heart resumes a steady rhythm. Oddly enough, seeing Michael again, in his office of all places, does not jarred him as much as he thought. He was surprised, yes. Shocked, not so much. Lucifer looks him over, being obvious about it. He lets his eyes trail down Michael's perfect face with his strong dark brows to his broad chest, takes in the fitting black t-shirt he had on underneath a dark brown leather jacket. Typical Michael dress code. Simple, subtle, not attention grabbing. He's here on a job. 

The corner of his lips curls. A cold smile complementing the gleam Lucifer knows is in his eyes like he's amused. He tilts his head, watching as Michael's cocky expression shifts a little. A flash of something behind his steel blue eyes. With a nonchalance he doesn't have to fake, he saunters towards the desk, one sure step after the other. Their eyes locked on each other, intense and cautious. An impromptu standoff. 

Apart from the slight narrowing of his eyes, Michael remains motionless as Lucifer settles into the chair opposite him. The whole time, his finger rests on the trigger. Leaning back in the seat, he puts his elbows on the armrest and crosses his fingers in front of him. Then, he hooks his chin above his thumbs. "How did you find me?" he asks, curious. 

Something like amusement and familiar exasperation dance in Michaels' eyes as he huffs. The look sends his stomach into chaos. Like a thousand butterflies had decided to take off at once. Butterflies? "Cocky as always. I see you haven't changed one bit since the last time I saw you." 

"You mean the time where you tried to kill me?" Lucifer snaps. He meant to sound aloof, detached but instead it came off biting, hurt. He tries to calm himself down, smoothen out his face. If he doesn't get a grip on his emotions, he might as well show his hands. Which will not do. Lucifer doesn't want Michael to see how much he affects him. 

Something in his expression must be off, though because Michael flinches. The action is not pronounced. More a flicker than anything. If Lucifer hadn't been watching him as intently as he did, he would have missed it. Before he could read too much into it, Michael smirks, a small twist at the corner of his lips, leaving Lucifer to wonder if he had seen the flinch at all. 

"You're still pissed about that?" Michael has the audacity to roll his eyes.

A muscle at the side of his face twitched as he tries to stop the retort he can feel waiting to lash out. A slow dread fills him. Michael is acting like this isn't a big deal. Like this was just one of their petty fights. Like maybe he'd drank from his coffee cup instead of putting a bullet in his chest.

"It was a hit. I'm just doing my job. You know how it is." Michael waves his free hand in a vague gesture. 

Oh, he knows how it is alright. They were partners. Hitmen. Assasins. Gun for hire. Or whatever you want to call someone who kills people for a living. It's what they do. It's their jobs. They get a file containing the target's information and a set of instructions and they followed it to the T. From day one, he knew what Michael was. But he never thought he'd be standing at the end of the barrel of his gun one day. 

Unlike Michael, he hadn't started out as a killer. When he turned eighteen, he left the halfway house to joined the army. He was a natural. Survival is second nature for him. He didn't survive the system by being soft. He did it by being the alpha. Before long he was promoted to special forces where he served for two years. It was then that the lines started to blur. There's no white or black anymore. Just gray. 

And the things he had done in the name of his beloved country. The one he swore to protect and serve. He didn't know how torture and extortion contributed to any of that. He didn't know when his life became a string of lies, manipulation and violence. Every day that passed left him a little colder, less caring. Emotionless. Numb. He had to be in order to cope. He had to be an unfeeling foot soldier, ready to act at every bark of an order. Soon, it became routine.

It wasn't until his last assignment that he came to question everything. Question his actions, doubts niggling at the edge of his mind. His mission was pretty cut and dry. Seduce, infiltrate and report back. His target was Cain Linchester. On the outside, he's a wealthy successful businessman but unknown to others, he's among the key members to one of the most intricate and impenetrable syndicate across America. The reason they even stumbled upon him was through pure coincidence. The organization as a whole is still shrouded in darkness. An unknown. And he was tasked to uncover it.

Going by the cover, Nick Palicki, his orders were clear. Cain had a daughter, Lilith Linchester. Based on the intel they had, she was not involved with her father's activity and was oblivious to his involvement with the syndicate. Lucifer was to approach her, seduce her and get her father's trust. It had seemed easy enough. It wasn't his first rodeo. The fact that he rarely felt any romantic inclination worked in his favor. 

What he hadn't expected was that Lilith turned out to be a strong independent woman with a heart of gold. He was enamored by her kindness, her love for life in everything she did. She volunteered at the grief recovery support group twice a week. It was decided that he is to make first contact there, under the guise of losing his wife and child to a drunk driver. Their relationship progressed steadily just as planned, but his feelings for her developed throughout the months as well. Until one day, he realized that he'd fallen for her.

On the work front, he was well on his way on acquiring Cain's confidence. And when wedding plans were made a year later, he was finally taken into the fold. Cain had told him he wanted someone he can trust, someone who could take over the business. And not just the one for the public. He'd told Lucifer about the syndicate then, keeping it vague, gauging him, testing him. He wanted to see if his future son-in-law was had what it takes for the task at hand.

Months into the wedding, he was systematically introduced into the ranks. It was slow work, but he had been gaining intel, observing and reporting back. The syndicate had been bigger than they thought, their network reaching worldwide level. So deep in his cover, it was terrifying and stressful. And his relationship with Lilith blossomed more than ever, her support and love was what kept him going. Even though he knew one day, the truth will surface. 

The day came sooner than he'd thought. Someone from his own side betrayed him. A mole. And his cover was blown. He was ambushed, confronted in a room with Cain and his brother, Abel who had been against him from the very start. Untrusting and jealous. Jealous that Cain favored him. The situation was dire; he knew there were men stationed outside the door and as soon as he opened fire, they will rush in. But he was trained for these type of situation. Lucifer drew out his gun and shot, hitting Cain in the chest. He went down but not before both brothers managed to squeeze out shots of their own. He was hit. But it wasn't fatal.

Men rushed in and it was chaos. Bullets flew, brain matter splattered on the walls, men toppling over to their death. In the midst of all that violence, Lilith ran in. And it was reflex, well worn into him that had him raised his gun and shot at the newcomer. The stunned look on her face as she stood, still for a moment before she toppled backward still haunts him. The dribble of blood trickling from the wound in her head down her straight nose. He froze. Unable to react, unable to think. All his training hadn't prepared him for this. Hadn't prepared him for the murder of someone he loved. He was overpowered within minutes.

The next time he woke up, he was in captivity. The one person he saw was Abel. And occasionally his men. The months he spent in Abel's hand was hell, his day passed in a haze of pain and humiliation. Every single day, Abel would come up with a new form of torture to torment him. He had been drowned and revived. Bludgeoned with blunt objects. Had his bones broken and healed and broken again. His nails tore from their place on his fingers and toes.

After several months of that, Abel had decided to get more creative. He started abusing him sexually, forcing object after object into his anus. He was tore open with the blunt head of a baseball bat. The handle of a sniper. Cracked beer bottles. And one time, for the thrill of it, Abel shoved a colt inside him and played Russian Roulette with the one bullet he left inside. It had escalated to the point where he couldn't remember what it was like to not feel the wetness between his asscheeks. He had bled into his dirty stained boxers for the rest of his captivity. 

There was nothing but time and pain in that cell; to reflect, to think. Someone had betrayed him, and his people had left him here to rot in his own blood and feces. After all that he had done, after all that he had sacrificed. He can't see the point anymore. The first few months, he had burned with a hatred, had vowed revenge but as the days wore on, the anger dulled into resentment. And in time, defeat. He had no energy left to harbor such strong feelings. He was going to die alone and broken in this cell anyway. 

Or so he thought, until one day, the door opened and it wasn't Abel at the entrance but Michael. The man had looked at him with steely blue eyes, mouth in a firm line, head tilted. Thinking that he was another one of Abel's men, came to torture him some more, Lucifer stared up at him, unflinching from the corner of the room. The floor is dirty with bodily fluids, piss and excrement but he doesn't care. His dignity is long gone. He wasn't afraid of Abel anymore, by then he just wanted to die. So he kept staring.

Michael had saved him from that hell hole. He had taken Lucifer back to his home, tend his wounds and took care of him until he was able to stand on his own two feet. Until broken bones healed and bruises faded. It took him three weeks for his anus to stop bleeding. He felt humiliated every time he sat down and blood seeped onto his underwear. Michael never said a word when he noticed the stains and for that, he was grateful. 

Two months passed, and he was starting to look like himself again. He was glad Abel's preferred method of torture did not include the knife. There's not a scar on his body to remind him of his time in hell. But put him behind an x-ray and it will tell a whole different story. 

Michael hadn't said it, but during the months when he was healing, he had left a few times. Staying away for a few days at a time. And each time, he would pack a bag. Lucifer had packed enough provisions in his time to know what that bag meant. He didn't comment on it, until one day, Michael approached him with a set of photographs. They were the men who had tortured him. He hadn't said anything, just laid them down on the table and fixed him with those damn blue eyes. Asking but not asking.

He knew then that Michael was on the job the day he met him. Knew that Abel is dead. He felt a pang of regret that he wasn't able to kill the bastard himself. But he went after all the men that had taken part in his torture and dehuminazation with a fervor. A single-minded focus, sparing no thoughts or sympathy as he shot them down dead, one by one. Ever since then, he was Michael's unofficial partner. 

Their working relationship slowly developed into a sort of kinship. Not exactly a friendship. But you don't go into the battlefield without some kind of bond and trust with the person having your back. Living in the same house, sharing the same space, traveling together, they were inseparable. They have learned each other habits and quirks, falling into step with one another.

While Lucifer's methods are more instinct-based, Michael is the complete opposite. He is clinical and meticulous with laser sharp precision, calculating his every move. He treats each assignment with the same level of commitment, his eyes on the prize. He went through kills like drill. Lucifer knew this, and he admired Michael's professionalism and conviction. 

So yes, if Lucifer was the intended target, Michael wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet through his head. Funny how he'd known that but it still hurts anyway. The betrayal sings in his blood. Staring at the man in front of him, he sighs. "What do want, Michael?"

Michael continues to stare at him. Then very deliberately, he lifts his finger from the trigger, flips the safety on and places the colt on the table; muzzle faced away from the both of them. Lucifer glances down at the colt then back up at Michael, frowning. "You're not going to shoot me?" he asks tonelessly, ignoring the stirring in his guts at the gesture. 

"Why would I? You were presumed dead. My work is done," Michael shrugs.

Lucifer narrows his eyes at Michael's words. He knows that not quite true. To end every assignment, they need proof of death. Usually a picture or a death certificate. And he had none. Michael seems to be hiding something behind those words and if given the time, Lucifer would analyze it further, but there are more pressing matters at the moment like- "You haven't answered my question. How did you find me?"

"I didn't find you," he says, enunciating the word 'find.' "I thought you were dead." His words are soft but stoic. Michael's gaze wavers for a brief second before they harden into icy pool of water again. He slides a file across the table. Lucifer stares at it, frowning when he realizes that it's not one of his. 

"Go ahead. Read it."

He hesitates, staring at Michael, trying to figure out what he's playing at. When he sees nothing outwardly, he reaches for the file. Opening it, he recognizes it immediately for what it is. This is a target. His eyes widen as he sees the photograph. That's the man that assaulted Castiel.

Lucifer scans through the information in the files, eyes flitting through the page. Gordon Walker. Age 39, Black, 6ft tall. Right-hand man for Madden Kubrick of Bleeding Vamps, a gang in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Arrested for possession of drug with intent to sell, aggravated sexual assault and suspicion for first-degree murder. He was not charged on any of those arrests on reasons that they were dropped or thrown from court because of a technicality. The more he reads about this man, the angrier he becomes. He closes the file calmly and leans back in his seat.

"I want in."

Michael considers him for a moment, his blue eyes prodding. "I've been tracking Walker's movement for a while now. I knew he would be in town. So I've been lying in wait. Three days and nothing. But then, I heard about the attack at the truck stop." His eyes are shining bluer than ever now, piercing. "Imagine my surprise when I saw you at the hospital. You were so furious; you didn't even realized I was there." 

His heart skips a beat. Was Michael at the hospital? His blood runs cold at the thought. The fact that he was so close to Michael and not knowing. The hair at the back of his neck stands. They stare at one another across the table, trying to see who can outlast the other. The silence in the room is near suffocating. Then-

"Castiel Novak."

"What about him?"

"What is he to you?"

Lucifer sneers. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"You think I wouldn't find out?" Michael challenges.

Lucifer shrugs. "I've long since cared what you do or don't do, Michael."

Michael blinks, his cocky expression falters. If Lucifer doesn't know better, he'll say that he looked stung. Then, his face turns stony. "Fine," he bites out, reaching out for the colt. Just as his hand clasps over the piece, Lucifer whips his hand out and closes it on top of Michael's, holding them down. Michael snaps his eyes up, blue eyes blazing.

"I want in," he repeats. 

"Why?" Michael spits out. He looks angry, spiteful. His beautiful face twisted in fury. Beautiful?

"He hurt someone I cared about. I want to hurt him back. That's what you call having a person's back. A notion I doubt you understand." Seems like Michael isn't the only one feeling spiteful tonight. Add petty into the mix as well.

Michael looks like he's about snap back at him, the way his eyes glare dagger into him. So he's surprise when Michael smiles, albeit a mirthless one, cold and hard. "Fine," he says in a fake light tone. "If you want to be partners again, Luke. All you have to do is say so," he shrugs and before Lucifer could come back with a retort for that, Michael snatches his hand back from under him, the colt firmly in his grip. He pockets it, giving him a small smirk.

"I never said I wanted to be partners again. And don't call me that." Anger unfurls in his chest, spreading its flame through his body, lighting him up.

"What? Luke?" Lucifer narrows his eyes at the nickname. "Oh come on." Michael rolls his eyes.

"You lost the right the minute you decided to kill me."

"You're not dead, are you? Stop being such a drama queen. You've suffered worse. What's a little bullet wound?"

"You're right. I did suffer worse. I just didn't expect the same treatment from someone I considered a friend-" he stops then, abrupt. Lucifer hadn't meant for that to come out. Too late now. Gritting his teeth, he glares at Michael. 

He doesn't look too cocky anymore. In fact, he looks devastated, eyes pained. He opens his mouth as if to say something but closes them again, mouth in a thin line, a defeated slump to the set of his shoulders. He takes a moment to compose himself, his face reverting to its neutral calm even as his eyes retain that haunted look. The sight fills him with a petty satisfaction. But then Michael had to ruin it all by saying, "You're right. I'm sorry."

Lucifer blinks. Did Michael say he was sorry? Michael? The 'I am always right' Mr. Know-It-All saying he's sorry? That comes as a surprise. He never expects Michael to apologize for what he did. And to hear it, it startles him. But then again, he wasn't apologizing for the shot. He's apologizing for making light of it. There's a difference. Trying to hold onto the anger that's slowly slipping away, Lucifer announces. "It's late. And I'm tired. Let's talk about this tomorrow. How does nine in the morning work for you?" He knows Michael is an early riser but him, not so much. 

"Nine is fine," Michael agrees, standing up. Then, he holds out his hand. Lucifer stares at it, deliberating. Then, he stands too and takes Michael's hand, giving it a firm shake. He can't help but feels like this is a huge mistake. 

Michael's presence is giving him a lot of mixed feeling, and he isn't sure if he likes it. He ought to hate the man. But he doesn't. Instead, he's feeling _butterflies_. Seeing Michael again stirs something inside him that had laid dormant for the past six months. Something he kept hidden. Buried. Emotions that never sees the light of day. Feelings that he doesn't care to explore. Conflicted sentiments and warring intuitions. He needs to stay the fuck away.

So no one is more surprise than he is when he hears himself saying, "One job. And then we're done, Michael." He tells himself that this is for Castiel. That he wants to exact revenge on the person that had hurt him. Nothing else. 

That haunted look is still lingering around Michael's eyes, casting them in shadows. A ghost of the brilliant blue they can be. The simmers of the sea. The promise of a clear blue sky. Lucifer must be more tired than he though if he's waxing poetry about Michael's eyes. Michael gives him a small but genuine smile. 

"Deal." He gives Lucifer another firm shake of the hand. And if there's a tingle racing up his arms from where his hand is closed around Michael's, then it is no one's business but his own.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean wakes up to a gentle shake on his shoulder. He blinks. It's still dark, the only thing lighting up the room is the soft glow from the beeping machine. He groans, back stiff from the awkward position he fell asleep in. Straightening up from the chair, he rubs his eyes, dimly aware of his hand still clasped in Castiel's relaxed fist. The guy is still fast asleep and Dean smiles as he watches him drool onto his pillow. Looking around, he wonders what had woken him up when his eyes fall upon two slender arms crossed at the chest. Dean trails his eyes upwards and is met by a disapproving look directed his way. Lisa.

"Were you here all night, Dean?" she hisses, moving her hands to her hips now. Dean gulps, suddenly feeling very small. Like a child who's been caught stealing candy. He hangs his head, ashamed. "God, Dean. I shouldn't have told you where Castiel is in the first place," Lisa berates herself. 

Dean looks up guiltily. He doesn't want Lisa to blame herself. He was the one who had conned and sneaked his way to Castiel. Lisa's eyes flick over to their clasped hands and lingers there for a minute. Her eyes soften with a knowing look, and she flicks her doe-eyed gaze back at Dean. "He's more than just a friend, isn't he?" 

Feeling like a deer caught in the headlights, he averts his eyes, landing on Castiel. He takes in his bruised but relaxed face halfway burrowed in the pillow, his messy hair sticking up everywhere on his head. The little snores that whistles out his bandaged nose, the half open mouth. And he doesn't have it in him to feel apologetic or embarrassed about their relationship. He smiles at how dorky Castiel looks while he sleeps, thumb rubbing circles onto his skin. 

"Yeah. He is." It sounds like a confession, a secret as the words escape his lips. A whisper. A wisp. But a promise nonetheless. When he turns back to Lisa, there's a look of understanding on her features. She lost some of the tension in her shoulders and then she laughs, a soft sound, shaking her head. Without saying a word, she picks up the clipboard hanging at the foot of Castiel's bed and flips through it. Dean watches as she unhooks the IV drip, replacing it with a new bag. 

Lisa leans over the side of the bed and gently nudges Castiel awake. It's like watching a cat stretch. Unhurried and deliberate. First, Castiel snuffles a little, nose twitching. Then he digs his head further into the pillow, letting out a soft sigh, a small smile on his lips. When Lisa continues to nudge him, his face scrunches up and he groans grumpily, his arms and legs shifting and moving underneath the cover. It's a slow process, but one that Dean don't mind watching every morning with a smirk on his face and mirth in his eyes.

Castiel's sleepy eyes land on Dean first. He blinks, his face brightening as he registers Dean's presence and smiles, his grip tightening on Dean's hand. As much as he wants to kiss Castiel right now, there's someone else in the room with them. Someone who's currently narrowing her eyes, arms crossed. Dean tries subtly signal Lisa's presence with his eyes, but it's a lost cause. Castiel's brow furrows and he tilts his head, reminding Dean of a bird. 

"How are you feeling, Castiel?" Lisa asks startling Castiel who snaps his head to the other side in a motion that looks like it hurts. It does if Castiel's grimace is anything to go by. He closes his eyes and after a moment, clears his throat before speaking. "I feel drowsy." His voice still sounds like he swallowed gravel for breakfast, coarse and rough.

Lisa nods. "Any pain?" 

Castiel seems to consider this then shakes his head. Lisa puts the back of her hand on his forehead, feeling his temperature. She hums. "We gave you some pain meds yesterday so that's no surprise, but it's going to wear off soon. You might feel a bit sore. But don't worry, it's normal. If it gets too bad, press this buzzer and a nurse will stop by." She shows Castiel a tiny button beside his bed before continuing, her voice taking on a stern tone. "Dean is not allowed to be in here." She glares at him. "I have to insist that he go back to his own bed."

"But-" Castiel protests.

"Erm-" Dean starts. They both look at each other for a moment before Dean plows on. "I have a confession to make." Two pairs of eyes lock onto him and he feels the tips of his ears burning. "I'm not a patient here," he mumbles to the ground, shuffling his feet. 

"I'm sorry, what?" Lisa's voice has taken on a higher note.

"I'm not a patient here," he repeats, louder. "I'm sorry." He chances a look up. When he sees the confusion on Lisa's face, he hurries to explain. "I needed to know if Cas is alright, okay? No one is telling me anything and I was worried. I didn't know if he's alive or dead! So I sneaked in," he blurts, speaking a mile a minute. "You didn't see how he was when he was brought in. He was barely breathing and I was scared. And Lucifer, he-" Castiel gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. Dean chokes back the words, only then realizing that he had been shaking.

"Whoa, Dean." Lisa raises her hands as if trying to ward off Dean's verbal vomit. "Are you telling me you sneaked into the hospital, _stole_ some sick person's hospital gown and pretended to be a patient so that you can find Castiel?" Lisa says slowly, brows furrowing. 

Dean can't look Lisa in the eyes as he admits, "I stole it from the supply closet." There is a muffled sound from the bed and Dean's eyes snap towards it. Castiel's mouth is twisting and turning like he's trying to hold in his laughter, his eyes carefully avoiding Dean's. "It's not funny!" He nudges at Castiel when he begins to shake, his shoulder trembling with the effort to stop the guffaws from spilling out. "You jerk!"

Castiel breaks and he fucking giggle. _Giggle!_ Like a child. With his eyes all crinkly, lips spread so wide it covers half his face and he's wiping his eyes like there are tears streaming down his face. That bastard! For some reason, Dean ends up grinning too, soft snort of laughter bubbling out from him. At least he was until he looks up and spotted Lisa. 

Lisa has both eyebrows raised and her mouth half open, dumbfounded. Then, she huffs out a laugh. "I don't know if that's the most stupid or the most romantic thing I've seen someone done," she mutters, shaking her head. Their quiet laughter dies down and there's a moment of silence before she adds, "Do you need a ride home?" Dean gapes up at her in surprise. "My shift ends at five which is in about..." She glances at her watch. "Ten minutes. I would hurry if I were you."

Dean closes his mouth abruptly and turns to look at Castiel. Bright blue eyes stare back at him. "Dean can come and visit during visiting hours. Like a normal person," Lisa says, rolling her eyes. Castiel squeezes his hand, smiling a little as he says, "Thank you for the thieving and the ninjaing, Dean." There's glee dancing behind those innocent blue eyes, but Dean can see the gratitude and sincerity there too. 

"Anytime, Cas," he replies, heart warmed. He sneaks a glance at Lisa who is quick to avert her gaze, picking up the clipboard and half-heartedly flipping through it. Leaning over the bed, he presses a quick chaste kiss on Castiel's lip and mutters, "I'll see you soon." When he straightens up, Lisa is trying hard to hide the big smile encroaching her face. Castiel, on the other hand, has no qualms whatsoever and is grinning wide, gums and all.

"Goodbye, Dean," he says as Lisa leads him out. Dean gives Castiel a small wave before he is hidden from view by the curtain Lisa is pulling back into place. There's an awkward silence, Dean is unsure on what to do next. Lisa places a hand at the small of his back and nudges him out the door, following soon after him.

'I'm guessing you didn't came here buck naked. So go put your clothes back on and I'll see you at the entrance in 5 minutes. Is that okay? I want to be home before Ben wakes up."

Dean nods. "Yeah, sure." He turns to go in the direction of the elevator and stops. Looking over his shoulder, he says, "Thank you, Lisa. For everything." She gives him a sweet smile and makes a shooing motion.

Dean grins as he enters the elevator, heart feeling much lighter than it had been in a while. Castiel is recovering fine and they're- What are they? Are they boyfriends now? The term sounds so weird in his head. Boyfriends. He smiles. He thinks he can get used to that. His heart flutters as he thought back to their kiss. The way Castiel's lips fit against his like they belong there. It feels like coming home.

And then there's Lisa. Her simple kindness is like a beacon in the constant darkness that shrouds his life. Too many had taken advantage and too little had cared. Instead of being mad at him, Lisa had handled his dishonesty with an understanding and compassion that leaves him speechless. Her easy going attitude makes it all the easier to accept her generosity. Things aren't rainbow and sunshine, but he's feeling hopeful. For the first time in a long while.

The drive back passes in a blur of jokes and pleasantries. Lisa is a happy-go-lucky kind of woman even if life hadn't been easy for her. He learned that Lisa was knocked up in her early twenties and Ben's father is no longer in the picture. She had to quit medical school to take care of Ben. But far from giving up, she took her GED and became a nurse. It's tough sometimes as a working single mom, but she had no regrets. Ben's the best thing that had ever happened to her. Dean can relate.

"I have that with my little brother, Sam. I uh-" He rubs the back of his neck, feeling self-conscious. "I kind of raised him. We lost our mom when Sam was six months old." The old guilt threatens to overwhelm him again, but he pushes it to the back of his mind. "Our dad, he uh- He never quite recovered."

Lisa takes her hand off the wheels and pats his thigh. She doesn't say anything and he appreciates it. He's tired of hearing people say they're sorry. It's no ones fault but his. "She died in a car crash," he blurts. "We think that she might have been on her way to see me. I was having a sleepover at a friend's. We never did figure out why. Why she got out of bed and drove to see me three blocks down the road at 3 at night." He stares right ahead, chewing the inside of his cheek.

"She left Sam alone at home." After all these time, he still couldn't make sense of that. "It's not like her. At all. It's like she dropped everything and rushed out the house. She was still in her sleeping robe." Lisa gives him a small squeeze, her eyes on the road. "She crashed into a lamppost just outside my friend's house. The crash woke me up. I didn't even realized what happened and who it was until Dad came and picked me up. The look on his face..." He swallows.

"Her brakes wasn't working. It was declared as an accident. But Dad he- He was convinced it was a homicide. Maybe it's because he's a cop himself. People said he was seeing things he wanted to see. Seeing ghosts where there isn't one. He spent all his waking moment going over mom's case, he was obsessed. After awhile, he was forced to retire. Sam, he never got to have a normal childhood. We moved a lot. Dad going wherever he thinks the leads take him and sometimes he disappeared weeks at a time. And every time before he left, he would tell me, 'Take care of Sam, Dean.' Taking care of Sam, that's my job."

He smiles then. "I love my brother. And I know he loves me too. Did you know what his first word was?" Grinning wide, he says, "Dean." His chest feels like it's about to explode with pride. "He said Dean."

Lisa nods, smiling as she recalls her own memories. "Ah yeah. The first word. I remembered what it was like. When Ben first called me Mom... It kind of make everything worth it, right?" She flashes him a warm smile before returning her eyes on the road. He nods, can't help but agree. "Yeah."

They're silent for awhile, each deep in their own thoughts. Then, feeling silly, he lets out an enormous exhale. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I'm not normally this chatty, I swear. You must have Jedi mind tricked me somehow."

Lisa laughs, a lovely sound. "It's called reciprocation, Dean. I shared something about myself, you share something in return." She winks at him. "No Jedi-ing involved. And talking about tricks, I can't believe you tricked me into revealing Castiel's info! _Stealing a hospital gown?_ That's like, the most unbadassed subterfuge ever."

"Hey! It was awesome and you know it. I was like- Batman," he proclaims, dipping his voice low into a growl-like quality. When Lisa turns skeptical face towards him, he gives her his best imitation of blue steel. Eyes narrowing, cheeks hallowed and lips pursed into a pout. Lisa snorts and he grins, laughing along as he sighs back into his seat. It's been awhile since he felt this free and had so much fun.

When Lisa stops outside the home, she told him to wait as she fumbles around the glove compartment. She pulls out a card, scrambles for a pen and writes something on the back of it. Then, she hands it to Dean. Confused, he takes it. It's a name card with Lisa's office number and at the back her home address and her personal number. He cocks an eyebrow in a silent question.

"In case you need anything, feel free to call. And the address is for Ben's birthday party. He's turning six this Saturday. And I'm inviting you. You could bring Sam along as well. And Castiel. There's enough food to go around, I promise. I did my homework." Her eyes widen conspiratorially as she continues. "Kids and their appetites."

Dean is momentarily stunned silent. He looks at the card then back up at Lisa again. Her face falls as she shifts in her seat. "If you want to. I didn't mean to sound presumptuous. I mean, I would love it if you could come by. But of course, it's up to-"

"I'll come," he blurts. He clears his throat and repeats, in a more polite manner. "Yes, of course. We'll come. Definitely. Thank you for inviting us." Lisa beams, her kind eyes twinkling. "Sam is six too, so..." he trails off. 

"Perfect!" Lisa says, beaming wider. Dean returns her smiles, slips the card into his jeans pocket and opens the passenger door. Before he steps out though he gives Lisa one quick hug, grateful to have known her company.

The rain had stopped sometime during the night. The air is crisp and a little chilly but smells fresh and clean. Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, loving the smell of dew and leaves. He waves Lisa goodbye as she drives off, watching her tail lights round the corner and out of sight.

Dean is feeling a little out of sorts as he lets himself into the house, tiptoeing to his room so he wouldn't wake the others up. It's been a long day and he'd experienced a 360 degrees turn of emotions. He's exhausted. Slipping into his room and seeing Sam all curled up in his bed, cover tangled around his tiny legs, he smiles. He places Lisa's card on the bedside table and undresses. Stepping into a clean pair of boxer, he then slips into bed with Sam, ignoring his own for the moment. Right now, he is content to just let himself fall asleep with his little brother safely tucked in his arms. Before he knows it, he falls into a deep sleep, loose-limbed with a hint of a smile on his face. 

\---

The sound of the coffee machine whirring soothes his jangled nerves. Lucifer hadn't slept at all last night, tossing and turning in his bed. He finally gave up after hours with no success and decided to take a cold shower, hoping that it will help clear the cobwebs in his head. But damn, was he wrong about that. 

Standing under the spray of icy cold water, all that came back to him was the memory of drowning. Death's icy grip pulling him down and under, into the depth of darkness. His lungs screamed in agony as they fought for air but instead filled with salty cold water. The pain in his chest dulled as hundred of thousand needles pricked into every fiber of his being. The pain was excruciating, his muscles cramping in protest. It was a miracle he hadn't died. 

And the reason for it all was Michael. So why in God's name did he felt a tinge of happiness at seeing the man again? He should hate him. Kicked him out of the house on sight. Not agreeing to work together again. Not when just seeing the man is setting him on edge like this. Feeling like his skin is too tight around his body, pulling taut and uncomfortable. He doesn't even feel like himself anymore.

Sighing, he sips his coffee. He hums contently at the bitter taste of roasted black coffee. Nothing like some caffeine to start the day. Staring at his half full cup, his mind wanders. It's weird how it seems like just yesterday that he was bickering with Michael over coffee mugs. He was in the middle of their kitchen, searching for his mug only to turn around and see them in Michael's hand. Of course then they had descended into a heated argument on whose mug it was, both of them getting hot headed. Sassy remarks and disguised insults flying across the room. 

Come to think of it, they had never got along well. They argued at the smallest thing, butting head more often than not. It's a wonder why he kept staying with Michael or why Michael let him. They stepped on each others toes all the time. Perhaps it's because of the close quarters, being constantly in each other's space that caused them to be so hostile. Human beings are not meant coexist for long period of time in within a certain amount of radius. The fact that he never encountered this problem when he shared a barrack with more than ten men taunts him. He ignores it.

Maybe it's a sign. They're just not meant to be. Like oil on water. They should never have partnered up in the first place. He should have heed the warnings. Stepped away while he still can. Then, maybe he wouldn't have ended up in this mess. A bullet wound in his chest and this ache inside him that has no purpose being there.

He glances at the clock hanging above the kitchen counter. 7 am. Two hours before he has to meet Michael. His gut clenches at the thought. Fuck. Why had he agreed to do this? It's too late to back out now. It's a like a game of chicken. First one out is the loser. And Lucifer is not a coward. Why should _he_ be the one who's nervous anyway? Michael shot him! If there's anyone who should be feeling like he's about to puke his guts out, it should be Michael. Nonetheless, he still feel green around the edges.

Lucifer downs his coffee, stands and stretches. The children will be up soon. It's time to retreat if he wants to avoid the stampede and chaos in the kitchen. He makes some toasts and hurries back to his office. He needs to do some research anyway. Settling behind his desk, he starts up his computer.

Michael had left with the file but he had glimpsed enough to do a bit of digging himself. He spent the next hours reading up on Bleeding Vamps and their activities. It's a relatively new gang, news about it only started a year back. Most of which are about drugs trafficking and on one account, a meth lab explosion. Kubrick and Walker's name pop up time and again in related news articles but nothing concrete. He wonders why someone would pay to kill Walker. If it's a territorial war, why not Kubrick? Unless, it's personal. Or perhaps it's an internal thing.

Who hired the kill doesn't matter, though. What matters is that Walker ends up dead. And Lucifer doesn't intend for it to be quick and painless. In order to do that, he needs Michael. Hardening his resolve, he pushes his chair back and stands. He's supposed to meet Michael at the motel he's staying at. Some place call Lullaby Blues.

At first Michael had just wanted to stay at the home. Lucifer had objected the idea. Thinking it had something to do with the availability of beds, Michael proposed to take the couch, like he did a hundred times before. The easy familiarity of everything was what sent Lucifer over the edge. It's not one of his finest moments. He had flipped and basically chased Michael out the front door, hissing something or other about betrayal and space. 

It took him awhile before he realizes they hadn't agreed on a place to meet when a piece of paper was shoved under the door. For some reason, that made him angrier and he snatches it up, read it and crushed it in his fist, storming back to his room. It might have seemed childish and petty, but it made him feel better so everyone can go and screw themselves. 

Everything sucks and he is still in a foul mood when he steps into the motel's reception area. It's a rent-by-the-hour type of motel which is not unusual during a job. On the piece of paper, in Michael's neat handwriting was the name of the motel and the room number. Perhaps because of that, he can't help but feels like a prostitute as he takes the elevator up to Michael's room. 

Staring at the number 4d hanging lopsidedly on the door, he raises his hand to knock. Before he's able to, the door opens and Michael is standing there, looking tired and bedraggled like he hadn't had a wink of sleep either. He is still in yesterday's clothing, minus the jacket. He hopes Michael wasn't standing behind the door peering out the peephole waiting for him, though the thought itself is just absurd. Lucifer was on time, right at the dot. That's probably why Michael was already at the door. Either that or he heard Lucifer approaching.

"You're here," Michael says like he's shocked that Lucifer actually came. Well, no one is more surprise than he is. 

"Of course. I'm not one to back out of an agreement."

Michael steps aside to let Lucifer in. The hallway is narrow and his arm brushes over Michael's chest as he does and a warm tingle blossoms from the point of contact. Suddenly, he's very conscious of their closeness and he quickens his steps inside, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible.

Michael closes the door behind him and follows. He stands a foot or two away, feet apart and waits, piercing blue eyes intent on his face. Feeling uncomfortable, Lucifer diverts his attention to the room. It's small, with a single bed, a mini fridge and a desk by the window, which is the only thing that look used. A laptop and an opened file lies on top of the desk, notes scattered about. It figures that Michael would be up all night working on the case. 

"Did you even slept?" Lucifer asks, glancing over at the untouched bed.

Michael shrugs. "What about you? Did you sleep well? You look horrible." 

Bristling at the comment, Lucifer snaps. "I could say the same about you." Not one minute in and they're on the verge of another catfight. Closing his eyes and taking a deep calming breath, Lucifer exhales slowly. Then, ignoring Michael, he turns towards the desk, scooping up the pile of papers there and flips through it. In a number of the pages, the word 'Crossroad Demons' is circled in red. The name rings a bell. He thinks he's heard it before. 

Tapping at the red circle, he glances over his shoulder and asks. "Crossroad Demons? Is that another gang?" 

Michael nods, walking over. He stops just inches behind Lucifer, head craning as he peers at the papers in his hands. The tip of his black hair almost tickle Lucifer's nose, he was that close. Tensing, he waits, unwilling to budge but feels the need to. This close, he's able to get a whiff of motor oil and stale sweat; the smell of their car when they do a stake out. It's not pleasant and brings back more unwanted memories of their bickering during those long hours.

Despite that, Lucifer takes a deep breathe knowing what he'll find underneath that stench. The faint smell of spices and pine, unique to Michael. The woodsy cologne he always wears. Not too much, not too little, but there. A scent that's so familiar he feels an ache. Lucifer swallows the lump in his throat.

"The reason Walker is in town?" Michael taps at the red circle. "He's on a drug run for Kubrick. And it's not the first time he's here either. For the past three months, he'd been here three times. Once each month. He'll meet up with someone called 'Hellhound'. I got my hands on him two days ago. Told me he worked for Crossroad Demons and no, he doesn't know who the leader is. Said he'd never seen him. Only that on the day of the exchange, he'll gets an email stating the time, date and location. That's all he knew."

"And you trusted him?"

"No."

Lucifer considers him for a moment. "You let him go," he says. It's not a question. It's a statement. 

Michael stays silent, intense blue eyes staring right back at him as if challenging him. Then, he sighs, the tension draining from his shoulder. "He's just a teenager, Luke. Besides, I thought I could trail him. He's bound to meet up with Walker soon. And when he does," Michael makes 'there-you-go' gesture with his hands. "It's a win-win."

Annoyed by the nickname but decides to let it slips, Lucifer hums. "So where is he now?"

Michael averts his gaze at that, looking uncomfortable. "At home?"

Lucifer widens his eyes in surprise. "You don't have eyes on him?"

Annoyed, Michael bites out. "I have one set of eyes. And they're right here. So yeah, I don't have eyes on him."

"You couldn't have hired someone to tail him?" Lucifer exclaims.

"I'm sorry, I thought this was my case. I didn't realize I have to report every little thing that I do." Lucifer stares at him, steaming. "He went home and sleep. I thought it would be a good time to check out the incident with the truck stop. And I was right, wasn't I? It was Walker! The only thing that I hadn't expected to encounter was you! Sorry if I was a bit distracted by your sudden rise from the dead, okay?"

Lucifer bites the inside of his cheek to stop the barrage of words from spilling and making the situation worse than it is. "So what? Hellhound is still at home?"

Michael flushes. "No. When I went back last night, he wasn't home anymore. I don't know where he went."

"He probably knew you were following him and waited until you're gone to make a run for it."

"Tell me something I don't already know," Michael deadpans. 

"I can't believe you lost him. Turns out perfect Michael isn't all that flawless after all," Lucifer concludes, smug. The man gives him a sarcastic smile before saying, "He goes to Lawrence High. And if I'm not mistaken, school starts today. So if he goes in, we can pick up his trail there."

"What makes you think he hadn't already blabbed to whoever's in charge? You said so yourself. You lost him. For all we know, they're making preparation and might have already switched Walker's contact person. Then we'll have nothing."

Michael's eyes blaze. "What do you have me do then? Kill him? Then, we'll have nothing either. And I'm not going to torture him so don't even bring that up," he snaps. Lucifer stares at him for a moment, taking in his flushed cheeks and fiery eyes. Sighing, he says. "You know, Michael. For a hired killer, you sure are determined not to get your hands dirty." 

Michael huffs, the fury in his eyes dim. "I don't kill teenagers. And I don't torture people. There are better ways to get intel." Lucifer had always known this about Michael, but still, he couldn't help feel a grudging respect for the man in front of him. In this industry, going without torturing is like resisting food when you're starving. It's a necessity. Trying to curb the warm feeling from spreading further, Lucifer turns back to the page and frowns. "I've heard of this gang before. I just can't place where I did."

"Well, it had to be local," Michael supplies.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," he sasses. Then, "Huh."

"What?" Michael asks, furrowing his brows at him, intense blue eyes right in his face. Narrowly avoiding stepping back, he glares at Michael, narrowing his eyes. "Do you have to be so close? I can hear you breathing down my face from here." Michael flushes again and steps back. One step. And that's it. Rolling his eyes in frustration, Lucifer says. "I know just the person to ask."


	15. Chapter 15

Holy shit, he's tired. Dean rubs his eyes trying to get them to focus on the words in front of him. They blur for a while before coming into focus. He squints and tries to stifle a yawn. Ms. Gagner, his English teacher, has them all reading this super boring book about a who-the-fuck-care Dystopian world. The voice of the girl reading the paragraphs drones on like Sandman himself is whispering in his ears. In that moment, he really hates Lois Lowry and his inaptly named book called "The Giver." 

Dean's on the verge of nodding off when someone knocks at the door, jerking him awake. The speaker halts midway through her sentences. He looks up in time to see another student he had seen around school pokes his head in. Disinterested, he's halfway back to Wonderland again when Ms. Gagner's shrill voice rings out the classroom. 

"Dean Winchester?" Ms. Gagner calls. Wide awake now, an icy dread creeping into his skin, he answers. "Yeah?"

"The principal wants to you," she says, nodding towards the boy. Stomach sinking, Dean pushes his chair back and stands on unstable feet. He doesn't want to go. What the hell does Crowley want? It's the middle of school periods. Okay, fine he's the principal, but still. Feeling like metal bars had been attached to his ankles, he drags his feet to the front of the classroom. 

"Please gather your things with you, Dean. I'm told it would take the rest of the period." Jaw clenched, he turns back and grabs his books and stuffs them into his bag. Well, that just seals it, doesn't it? He's going to have to put out. At a fucking school. Isn't anything sacred anymore? This is where he's supposed to be educated goddammit!

Shouldering his bag, he can feel the curious stare from his classmates. From the corner of his eyes, he catches sight of Anna. Her huge green eyes feel like spotlights beaming in on him. She knows. Their eyes connect for a moment before she shifts it, staring down at the book on her desk, biting her lips. Dean wonders how many times she'd been summoned to the principal office. 

With that somber thought, he follows the boy out the classroom and down the hallways. Dean's been here for almost three months, but he still has yet to familiarized himself with the school. Or made any friends for that matter. His current situation notwithstanding, he thinks it's out of habit. With his dad always on the move, he'd been to more school than he can count on one hand. He was always the new kid. And when he finally get settled, they're off again. In the end, why bothered?

"Dean, huh?" the boy comments. He has a loud booming voice, almost like a bark that contrast with his person. For a voice like that, he's expecting someone with more build and muscles but the boy beside him is long and lanky. He has dark brown skin with perfectly styled spiky hair. His eyes are brown, friendly and yet not. Dean doesn't know how to describe it, just that this dude makes him wary.

"Yeah. And you?"

"Russell. Like the dog you know?"

Dean frowns. He could just have made a Russell Crowe reference. Seems more fitting than a dog. Weird, but okay. "Do you know what this about?" he asks, making a vague gesture with his hand.

"Oh yeah," Russell says, a curl twitching at the corner of his lips. When he didn't continue, Dean cocks an eyebrow and prods. "Care to elaborate?"

"Not really, no. I'm disapproving of it but what can I say? He wants Dean." The way he says Dean's name make it sounds like it's an offensive slur. Sensing some form of hostility, Dean frowns harder, his body tensing. "What's your problem?"

"You're my problem," he says, stopping and turns around to face Dean. 

"I don't even know you," Dean snaps, stopping as well. He's confused, and a bit pissed off at the moment, fists clenching ready for a fight.

"Seems like you made a fucking impression on Crowley," he sneers. "Guess you're damn good on your hands and knees, whore."

The air seems to rush out of him all at once. He freezes. This kid knows. How does he know? Before he knows it, he shoves at the boy's chest, slamming him into the lockers. He grabs the front of his t-shirt and hisses in his face. "The fuck are you talking about?"

The boy had the audacity to sneer. "You think so tough huh? You're nothing but a whore, Dean. And Crowley will see that sooner or later. Then, he'll dump you like the sack of shit you are," he spits. The way the boy is speaking, it's like Dean stole his boyfriend or girlfriend or some shit. Possessive, jealous talk. Ah, crap.

"Now, now, now. You see, now I'm thinking you're fucking the man. Is that what this is about? You're jealous?" Dean taunts. Like he wanted Crowley's filthy hands on him in the first place. But because this boy is such a pain in the ass, he can't help but jerk him a little.

The boy's eyes widen. "What the fuck are you talking about? That's disgusting. I'm not a whore, bitch!" he spits out, struggling now against Dean's grip. Russell got his hands underneath Dean's and shoves at his shoulder. Dean would have hold on, but he doesn't want to cause a scene, so he steps back, glaring. "I fucked up, and now he wants you. Well, you're going to fuck this up too. Then, it's bye-bye Dean." He gives him a little wave, the kind with only the top of his fingers moving. Dean wants to break them.

Completely confused now and getting angrier by the minute, he exclaims. "Fuck what up? What the hell are you talking about?"

The boy just brushes off the front of his shirt and smirks. "You'll see." Then he turns and strides away, smug and sure. Dean narrows his eyes at his retreating back and begrudgingly follows. What else can he do?

Once they arrive at the principal's office, the boy knocks once and enters. "Sir, Dean's here." He has to do a double take because now the boy is polite as fuck. His eyes widen as he notices that Russell even had his head bowed a little. What the actual fuck?

"Good boy," Crowley praises and waves his hand in a sign of dismissal. Russell bows again and closes the door after him. Now that he's alone with Crowley, Dean kinds of hope that the boy is here with them, pain in the ass or not. There's a clearing of throat and Dean slowly turns to face the stocky man sitting behind his pompous desk.

"Dean-o," Crowley greets "How wonderful of you to stop by."

"Like I got a choice," he mutters.

"What did you say, Dean? It's rude to mumble."

"Cut the crap, Crowley. What do you want?"

"Tsk tsk tsk, so rude. Didn't your mother taught you better than that?" Crowley says, frowning in displeasure. Then he brightens up, "Maybe your principle could teach you a thing or two about manners."

"Just tell me what you want and we can get this over with. No need to play games, Crowley." At Crowley's thinned lips, he feels a cold sweat coming. But he stands his ground, jutting his chin out. He's not afraid.

"So impolite," Crowley snarls. "I thought Alastair taught you well. I must be mistaken. Maybe you need a trip down back to the basement to jock some senses back into that PIGHEAD OF YOURS," Crowley yells the last words out, startling Dean and making his heart jumps. He swallows, the scars littering his back tickles with phantom pain. He stays quiet, looking at the ground. "That's better," Crowley says, voice calm like he hadn't just scream.

"Now, Dean. I've a job for you." At this, he snaps his head up. A job? Is Crowley going to whore him out? He thought only Lucifer gets to do that. Still, he remains silent. Crowley slides a piece of paper across the table. "Be there on time. And take this with you." He indicates the briefcase sitting on the table next to the piece of paper. "Do not in any case open the briefcase. Is that clear?"

Dean squints. "Why? What's in it?"

"That is the point, Dean." Crowley rolls his eyes like it's obvious. "Now, when you're there, you're going to receive a briefcase in return. Do not open that either. Return that briefcase to me. I'll pay you for your efforts. How does a thousand sounds?" he asks nonchalantly like he hadn't just offered Dean $1000.

Eyes bulging, he eyes the briefcase. This has got to be some kind of trap. But $1000. That's a lot of money. He might be able to leave this place. Either way, it will be an option. Just in case things get bad enough at the house. "I'm not doing anything illegal," he ends up saying.

"I don't recall giving you a choice, Dean."

Dean stares at the briefcase and the paper. This is all kind of fucked up. First, they got him to whore himself. And now, they want him to bring who knows what to who knows who and return with a more than dubious briefcase. It doesn't sound good. He feels like a mule. Maybe he is a mule. "Is this drugs?" he asks, his voice raising an octave higher. 

Crowley sighs like he disappointed. "Let me make this simple for you. You do this; little Sammy stays safe. You don't do this, we _will_ hurt Sam." His tone bears no doubt, his eyes lasered in on him.

"Are you threatening my brother?" he asks in a low growl. Crowley gives him a winning smile. "Bingo!" 

Dean glares at Crowley. He knows he's screwed. There's nothing he wouldn't do to protect Sam and Crowley knows it. He also knows that if he agrees to this, the next time they need him to do something, they would use Sam to force his hands again. But even then, he couldn't not do this. He owes Sam too much. Knowing when he's defeated, Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breathe. "I'll do it. But if something were to happen to Sam, if he's missing one hair from his head, Lucifer is going to hear about this. And you know you don't want to mess with Lucifer," he tries.

"I'm not afraid of Lucifer. But then again I don't want to get on his wrong side either. There's no fun in that. Besides, I always meet my end of the deal. So, Dean. Do we have a deal or not?" Crowley leans back into his armchair staring up at Dean with a smug look on his face. Glaring at Crowley, Dean snatches up the piece of paper, stuffs it in his back pocket and grabs the briefcase. Crowley smiles a villainous smile. "Be a dear and don't be late."

Dean wants to punch that fucking accent right out of him.

\---

The hospital is bustling with activity when they got there. It seems to be one of those places that never sleep. Perhaps there's something to be said about that, but right now, Lucifer is too conscious of the body next to him. They're here to meet Azazel, whom they were informed was here to take an official statement from Castiel. As far as Lucifer knows, the only person who have intimate knowledge of the gangs in Lawrence like the back of his hand is Azazel, and who better to ask than him. 

Michael wanted to tag along stating that it was his case after all. Lucifer had disagreed. It'll be more efficient if they were to split up. One of them should try to sniff out Hellhound while the other digs up info on the Crossroad Demons. But Michael had been adamant, and Lucifer had given in. It's no use fighting with Michael. He can be extremely stubborn when he wants to. 

Right now, said man is brushed up tight against his side. The elevator feels small and suffocating. It's not like there's many people inside. Besides them, there are only two other nurses, who are standing in front of them, might he adds. So it really doesn't justify the amount of touching currently happening at the back. Not that he's paying attention to it. But he is. Very much so. It seems like his entire being is highly alert on what Michael is doing. Whether he is to breathe or move or even shift, Lucifer notices it. The rustle of his clothes sounds loud in his ears. The warmth of his arm where they're touching. _His smell._ God, this is getting out of control.

The elevator dings and Lucifer is quick to maneuver his way outside. He lets out the breath he'd been holding, and closes his eyes. Focus. The door slides close with another ding and then it's just the two of them. Ignoring Michael, he strides down the hallway towards Castiel's room. He can hear the man's footsteps quickens behind him and seconds later, Michael is falling into step beside him.

They walk in painful silence. Then, "Castiel. That's a biblical name," Michael comments out of the blue.

"So?"

"Nothing." The tone of Michael's voice is suspicious and Lucifer glances over, only to be ambused by smug blue eyes. "It just seems like you like surrounding yourself with angels." There's a twitch at the corner of Michael's mouth. Lucifer stares at him, unamused. "Cmon, that was good," Michael protests. Exasperated, Lucifer rolls his eyes but is unable to stop the small upward tilt of his mouth. Michael's eyes brightens at the sight of it while Lucifer tries hard not to read too much into it. 

Castiel looks up when they enter the room. He seems somewhat calmer than he was last night, blue eyes clear although it's quite obvious he is still in pain. Bruises littered his face and arms where they are exposed. He's sitting up in bed, the sheet covering up to his waist. Azazel is already there, standing at the foot of the bed with a notepad in his hands. They nod at each other in acknowledgment as Lucifer resumes his seat from the previous night. He notices Azazel eying Michael, who's oddly enough standing back this time, his blue eyes observant and alert.

"How are you feeling, Cassie?" Lucifer asks, voice soft. Castiel's eyes have never left him since he entered and are now staring at him, unblinking. At his question, his gaze wavers and he drops his eyes to his lap. 

"Better," he mumbles.

"Good." Lucifer wants to hold Castiel's hand but he is also very aware of Michael's presence in the room; can feel his heavy gaze on the boy in front of him. He doesn't know why, but he withholds any physical display of affection. Fixing a pointed look at Azazel, he asks. "Are you done?" 

"No. We're just about to get started." Directing his gaze at Michael, he asks. "And you are?" Lucifer notices Castiel's eyes dart up and settle on Michael. He feels uncomfortable at the amount of intensity in Castiel's eye as he stares. And stares. 

"Michael Angelo," Michael answers holding out his hand for Azazel to shake. "And yes, I realized I have the same name as one of the Ninja Turtles. It appears my parent have a sense of humor," he jokes. Giving Azazel a firm handshake, he then directs his attention to Castiel. "And you must be Castiel. It's nice to meet you." He holds out his hand but Castiel just stares at them like they're poisonous snakes ready to strike. 

"Doctors said he might be suffering from PTSD," Azazel explains. 

Michael withdraws his hand, asking, "What happened?"

"That's what we're looking to find out." Turning his attention back to Castiel, Azazel asks. "Can you tell me what happened yesterday? If you can, please give as much details as possible. It will help us find the person who did this to you."

Castiel's eyes start to water as he swallows compulsively, avoiding all eye contacts. He looks so scared and frightened. Lucifer has to keep breathing to control the anger he feels coursing through his veins. They all wait in silence until finally, Castiel starts talking.

He was shaking as he recalled the assault. His voice failed him when he recounted the rape, the beatings, the humiliation he suffered at the hands of those men. Tears started pouring down his face halfway through the story, but he kept plowing on, unable to stop now that he had started talking. Castiel described each man as best as he can, but he was half out of his mind with pain, the faces blurred together. And most of the time, he was on his stomach. 

"And then they left..." Castiel finishes, his voice barely audible, a whisper. 

"We suspect they're not from around here. Did they mentioned anything? Like what they're doing here or where they're heading?" Azazel asks. Castiel shakes his head. "Okay, what about accents? Did any of them have a particular accent, slang or term they used?" Another shake of the head. "Apart from Gordon, there were four other men. Did you managed to hear their names?" Castiel was silent for a while, brows furrowed into a frown. Then, he shakes his head again. 

"No, I'm sorry..." Castiel looks up with tearful eyes. "It's all starting to blur together." He shakes his head. "I can't be sure. I'm sorry."

"It's alright, Cassie. We have more than enough. You did well," Lucifer says encouragingly and watches as Castiel relaxes into his pillow. He looks pretty shaken up. "Azazel, can I have a moment with you? Outside?" Lucifer nods towards the door and stands, almost bumping into Michael. He's standing so close. Again. Right as he's about to snap at him, he notices the intensity of Michael's gaze, sharp and accessing. They aren't directed at him, but behind him. Castiel. That uncomfortable feeling is back again. He can almost hear Michael's brain whirring. Ignoring it, Lucifer sidesteps him and moves to the door. 

Once in the hallway, he turns around and both Azazel and Michael are standing there, looking expectant. "We've figured out who the black man is. His name is Gordon Walker. He came from Sioux Falls, South Dakota. He's the second in command of a drug dealing gang called Bleeding Vamps. They might be manufacturering too, but we aren't sure of that. All we know is that Walker is here on business with a gang called Crossroad Demons. Know anything about them?"

Frowning, Azazel glances over at Michael before speaking. "And you know all this, how?" Azazel asks, narrowing his eyes. 

"Michael is my informant," he lies.

"I didn't know you have informants, Lucifer."

"There's a lot about me that you don't know, Azazel," he counters, but his tone is light. "Now, what do you know about Crossroad Demons?"

Azazel sucks at the inside of his cheeks, making his face looks more sunken than they already are. "They're one of the gangs here. If you want to buy drugs; meth, cocaine, ecstasy, GHB, heroin, speed, ketamine, whatever. You go to them. They don't manufacture these stuff themselves. They're more like dealers," Azazel explains. Lucifer nods, waiting for him to continue. When he doesn't, he prods, "Who's the leader?"

Azazel looks uncomfortable. "I'm not at liberty to tell. It's a matter of trust."

"A matter of trust? We're on the same side here. And someone attacked one of our people. We can't just let this go. What would people think then? That we're all bark and no bite. Words of that get down the streets, that we can't protect our own people- Poof! Whatever respect and credibility we've gained over the past months. Gone. Is that what you want?"

He knows he's gotten through to Azazel when the muscles in his jaw twitches. For a control freak, that's his worst nightmare. Lucifer waits him out while he stews in his thoughts. Then, "Fine," Azazel bites out. "But _you_ deal with him. I want nothing to do with this. I'll help you with Walker. But I'm not getting involved with Crowley."

"Crowley?"

Azazel sneers. "Yes, Crowley. He's the man behind Crossroad Demons. The perfect position too. All that access to these young, impressionable minds. Do you how often I've come across dealers who are still underage? It's the perfect setup. These kids, if they're arrested, they'll only served time in juvie. A few months, and they're out with 'street cred' to boast about. Crowley has got his claws in them deep. Make them believe in all sort of things. Control them with the promises of money, power, and sex. About 90% of Crossroad Demons are made up of teenagers." 

"Ah, I see. The rowdy teenagers from Saturday night? That was his 'gangs'?"

Azazel nods. "He told them it was a welcoming party. A hint at what they'll get if they follow him."

"Using my people? Without telling me?"

"Like I said, you deal with him yourself." Azazel turns his head back in the direction of Castiel's room. "I want Walker's head on a platter too. But I'm not going to mess with Crowley's business."

"Not a problem. I understand your situation. Thank you for the info. We'll take it up from here."

"I'll keep you updated on the progress at our end. Our tech had cleared the scene sometime this morning and are running the evidence as we speak. When we identify the rest of the men, you'll know."

Lucifer holds out his hand. "We'll speak later." Azazel nods and gives him a firm shake before striding down the hallway to the elevator. When he's gone, Lucifer turns to face Michael. He had been exceptionally quiet during the whole exchange. 

"What's our next move?" Lucifer asks, knowing the answer.

"Crowley. Guess we're going to Lawrence High after all."


	16. Chapter 16

The words 'Lullaby Blues Motel, Room 5c' is scribbled in cursive on the piece of paper. Figures Crowley would be the kind of pretentious douchebag with curly caligraphy-like handwriting. Dean feels a little out of sort as he makes his way to the motel. It hadn't taken him long to google the place and print out the directions at the library. Now holding it in his hands, he can feel the snakes that had been slowly uncoiling in his stomach since he was called to Crowley office starts to spit and hiss. 

The briefcase feels heavy in his hand, and Dean has half a mind to stuff it in his backpack. Except, it's too huge. He feels guilty just for holding it. Like at any moment now, the cops are going to tackle him. It's not like he hadn't had a run-in with a cop before but that was something different. This feels loaded, much worse. Cold sweat films his forehead and back. He tries not to look too guilty as he walks down the busy streets, keeping his head down. He looks conspicuous enough as it is, a teenager out and about during school hours.

The motel isn't far off from the school ground. It took Dean around twenty minutes to arrive, power-walking his way through. By the time he steps into the air-conditioned reception area, he's breathing hard. A shiver runs up his spine as the cool air brushes his damp skin. Why the hell would they turn on the air-condition this early in spring? It's not even that warm outside. He pulls his leather jacket tighter around himself, shrugging his shoulders. 

The place looks as welcoming as a funeral home. Instead of the somber black, Dean's eyes is ambushed by ugly mud brown color tones. The room also lacks a certain decor. No paintings on the wall, the chairs in the 'lobby' are wooden and looks uncomfortable. No couches. There is not a plant in sight. Everything seems pretty sterile. He doesn't know what he was expecting, but it's not this. Maybe something more cheesy. Like lewd pictures of naked women and porn magazines scattered around. Maybe even a little porno-ish music in the background.

Ignoring the ginger kid behind the reception desk, Dean heads towards the elevator. He taps a beat with his fingers on his thigh, humming ACDC under his breath. Dean's nervous. He doesn't know who's waiting for him up there. His stomach makes a swan-dive. Is there a code or an etiquette for this? What does he even say? Does he even need to say anything? Or just silently exchange briefcases? God, he's so in over his head. The elevator dings. Dean swallows the lump in his throat and steps inside.

During the short ride up to the fifth floor, he has managed to calm down somewhat. As he exits the elevator and walks towards the daunting door with the 5c on it, he feels a bit steadier. Just rip it off like a band-aid. He takes a deep breath and rings the buzzer. No answer. He leans closer to the door, ear flat against the thin wood. He thought he hears the shower running. Great, whoever it is is taking a fucking shower. It's not like they're about to make a transaction here or whatever. Jesus.

Dean is debating what to do when a voice from inside yells, "Who's there?" 

"Um..." Does he say his name? Better not. "Crowley sent me. I got a briefcase for you?" he explains, rolling his eyes when it comes out sounding like a question. Way to go on making yourself sound like a fucking amateur, Dean. Bravo. Jesus, why can't the man just come to the door? "You're supposed to give me one in return?" Again with the question. Why can't he just state it? Like yes, I am here to deliver this briefcase. And yes, I am here to take a briefcase from you.

There's a pause before the man is yelling again. "The door's unlocked. Make yourself comfortable. I'll be out in a bit." Dean continues to stare at the door, hesitating with an alarmed look on his face. He doesn't want to go in. He just wants to get this done and over with. Sighing dejectedly, he turns the doorknob and pokes his head in. There's a door on his right that is ajar, tendrils of steam swirling out from it. Stepping inside, he closes the door and moves further into the room.

The room itself is quite small. A single bed in the middle, a tv screen hanging from the wall and a small table and chair in a corner. There's a window too, but the curtains are drawn, casting the room in darkness. The only illumination comes from the two small bedside lamp. Dean feels awkward standing in the middle of the room, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands or as a matter of fact his whole body. Glancing back at the bathroom, the showers still running, he decides that it's going to take awhile. 

Blowing the air from his cheeks, he hesitates only briefly before taking a seat on the cushioned chair, placing the briefcase on his lap. On the table is a laptop. The whirring indicates that it's on even though the screen is black. Staring around the room, he fidgets, tapping his feet on the carpet floor, hollowing his cheeks and pursing his lips. He digs out the paper Crowley had given him and crumbles it into a ball, playing a game of toss and catch with himself. He performs a few complicated tricks. Balancing the paper ball on one foot, he kicks it up into the air. The ball of paper makes a wide curve in the air. Dean tries to keep it in the air with his head, but the paper ball just bobs off his hair and falls with a soft rustle onto the touchpad. The black screen dissolves and the image there captures his attention. 

At first Dean isn't sure what he's looking at. The angle is all wrong. He tilts his head a little before the full knowledge of what he's seeing slams into him. A boy is bent almost in half in the middle of a tangle of limbs; Dean is having a hard time distinguishing who is who. His legs are spread obscenely wide, held apart by two bulky arms. He's naked, oh he's so naked. Dean wants to look away, but he can't. He's stuck, unable to move, horrified.

There's another man in between the boy's thighs with his cock balls-deep in him. And what he sees make him want to puke. There is blood staining the pale skin around his anus and coating the man's engorged penis. That looks like it hurts and it looks a hell of a lot nonconsensual. Without realizing it, his fingers are on the touchpad and with a tap, the image starts to move. 

Dean freezes as cries filter out from the laptop, the sound painful and guttural. The boy is crying, sobbing and begging. But the men surrounding him paid him no attention, continues to jeer as they jerk him around. He can tell how much pain the boy must be in, by the way his limbs are trembling, spasming. His stomach lurches at a particularly nasty thrusts. The boy's cries are muffled even as the violence escalates. 

Frozen in his chair, his eyes widen as the camera angle shifts and is directed at the boy's face on the floor. Unseeing blue eyes filled with tears stare back at him. Dean almost falls out of his chair when he recognizes the face. There's no mistaking those baby blues and disheveled hair. That's Castiel. Jesus mother of all God fuck, that is Castiel lying there! 

Before he knows it, Dean's on his feet, the briefcase falling with a thud to the carpet floor. His mind is screaming at him to look away, to run, but he's physically not able to. A blood-curdling scream tears out the laptop's tiny speaker, chilling him to the bones. He forces himself to look away when the men step on Castiel, wiping the sole of their dirty shoes onto his skin, his face. Castiel wouldn't want him to see this. His heart aches with an unspeakable sorrow, and he finally turns himself around. Bending forward, hands on his knees, Dean dry heaves. 

The sound of the running shower stops. Dean squints at the door with watery eyes. Then it hits him. He's in the room with Castiel's rapist! Panic, terror and anger tears at him, blinding him. His eyes dart around desperately, seeking out something, anything that he might be able to defend himself with. The door opens, and he turns around, grabbing the chair and brandishes it above his head, ready to swing.

A man wearing nothing but a towel stands by the opened bathroom door. He has this bemused expression on his face. Dean recognizes him immediately. It's the guy from the truck stop; the one with the crazy eyes. Castiel chokes and splutters behind him; the sounds sit heavy in his stomach. And for a moment there, Dean sees red. Anger overpowered any other feelings he might have, pumping him full with adrenaline. He charges the man in front of him, slamming the chair down onto his body. 

The man's reflexes are fast. He raises his arms to block the strike, but Dean did manage to land in a good shot. The chair crashes into flesh and bones and the man's arm weakens. But before Dean can lift the chair again, the man is on him, his good hand grabbing him by his neck, choking him. He can't breathe, the chair clatters to the floor as he reaches up, fingers clawing at the man's death grip.

With the chokehold, the man advances on him, trying to push him to the ground. The edge of his vision blurs but Dean still has the presence of a mind to swing his leg up, kicking the man in the balls. Howling, the man's grip loosen, and Dean takes the opportunity to shove him away. Gasping for breath, face red and knees weak, Dean stumbles forward. He grabs the man's head and lifts his knees. But before he makes contact, the man lunges at him, the force of it sending Dean sprawling back. 

His head hits something hard and a jolt of pain momentarily blinds him. When he can see again, his world is tilting and he can feel bile at the back of his throat. The man is sitting on top of him, straddling his chest. He is panting, grabbing Dean by his hair and yanking it. Dean grunts in pain as his eyes focus.

"I see you found my porn collection," the man says, voice calm but breathless. He is still breathing hard. 

Dean glares up at him and spits out. "That's no porn."

"Oh? Is that so? And how would you know that?" he challenges, grinning, showing off his white teeth. His eyes are wild. Just like when Dean saw him at the truck stop.

"Because that's my friend you motherfucking rapist!" Dean yells. He can't help himself; he's so angry. He doesn't care that's he's overpowered. His head feels like it's splitting open and it's getting steadily harder to breathe with the weight of the man on his chest. He's fucking pissed. He wants to claw the man's eyes out if his arms aren't pinned to the side of his body by the man's calves. Struggling, unable to do much more, Dean spits in his face. 

The man backhands him, causing his head to snap to the side. He tastes blood, knowing that he had bit himself. "Bitch! Do you think can spit at me and get away with it?!" He bellows, voice loud in his ears. Dean flinches, his heart thumping so loud and fast he's afraid he's going to pass out. "You're going to get it now!"

Strong fingers grab his chin, forcing him to face forward. Dean's preparing to spit again when the man slaps his fat sweaty palm over his mouth and nose and presses down. His airways are immediately cut off. Dean struggles defenseless, unable to use his hands as the man keeps pressing down hard, using both hands now, his fingers digging into his cheeks. He can't breathe. He kicks out, and thrusts his hips, trying to buck the man off him, but he's too heavy and Dean is suffocating. His eyes start to water and his vision darkens. Fuck. This can't be it. This can't be how it ends. It's not fair. His body jerks. Cas. Sammy. 

No...

Everything goes black.

\---

The sun is shining as they walk out the hospital. The air is a little humid for spring, especially since it's only mid morning. Lucifer thought about taking off his jacket, but he only had on a pair of threadbare t-shirt underneath. Having almost no sleep the night before, he doesn't want to deal with uncomfortable, stiff clothing. The soft cotton, so well worn is smooth against his skin. It reminds him of being warm and fuzzy in bed seconds before waking up. It relaxes him. Putting on his sunglasses, he turns around, frowning when he finds Michael with a discernable expression on his face. 

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Michael's head jerks up. He stares at Lucifer for a bit before shrugging. "I'm hungry. Want to grab a bite?"

He raises his eyebrows in surprise. He had assumed that they're going right to Crowley. Knowing Michael, that'd be the first thing on his mind. The job always comes first. "Don't you want to go to Crowley? The exchange could be happening any time now that Walker's in town." 

"I'm hungry." Michael's reply is short and curt like a petulant child. Furrowing his brows, Lucifer stares at the man. "What's going on, Michael?"

"Nothing!" That's certainly not nothing. He has never seen Michael looking as uncomfortable as he is right now. Lucifer narrows his eyes and waits. Michael is looking anywhere but at him and he knows he's going to win this chicken contest. And he did a moment later. "I didn't have breakfast, okay?" Michael snaps. "Now, do you want to eat or not?"

Lucifer is taken aback by how defensive Michael is responding. His shoulders are tensed around his neck, back stiff. His hands stuffed into the pocket of his leather jacket, jaw set and mouth tight. Lucifer tries to read into his expression, but there seems to be a shadow of a mask blanketing his face. It's not exactly blank, but it's an expression he has yet to see. It's baffling. It's going to be a long day.

Deciding to keep the peace, he says. "No need to get snappy. If you want to get a bite first, I won't be the one to say no."

"Okay. Let's go then." Michael's tone is still a little too sharp and as he turns to leave, hesitates. Lucifer smirks. "Do you know a place?" Michael asks, not turning around. 

Lucifer would laugh if he thinks he could get away with it, but he doesn't want to risk enraging Michael more. Trying to curb the smile from spreading wider, he shakes his head. In a manner much too fond for his liking and says, "Follow me."

Without thinking, he wraps an arm around Michael's shoulder, steering the guy. Immediately he can feel Michael tenses up. When he realizes what he'd done, he freezes up too. Old habits die hard. This was how it used to be with them. Easy and comfortable despite their constant bickering. For him at least. For Michael, it's more like quiet acceptance. He wasn't the type to initiate contact.

But that was then. This is now. They're not whatever they were anymore. They can't go back in time. They can't undo the choices _Michael_ made. Michael chose this. And he has to live with it. Debating how best to lift his arms without it being too obvious, he stills when he feels Michael relaxing into his side, the tension rolling out in waves. He glances to his side, heart almost stopping when he spots the smile on Michael's lips. An unidentifiable emotion rushes through him.

Suddenly, it's too much. Everything is too close. There's not enough space. He feels claustrophobic. He needs air. Slipping his arms from around Michael's shoulder, he brushes past him, walking ahead. Already he's mourning the loss of Michael's solid weight pressing against him and gets mad at himself for it. What's happening to him?

"Luke?" The voice stops him in his track. Michael sounds small, unsure, hesitant and it's pulling at his heartstrings and he doesn't know anymore. His heart aches. "Don't call me that..." he whispers, voice hoarse. This is so unfair of Michael. He has no right barging into his life again, acting like nothing happened and expects everything to go back to the way it was. It doesn't work that way. 

When the silence drags on, Lucifer risks a glance back. Michael is standing there, eyes on the ground. He looks dejected. And no matter how much Lucifer wants to hate the man, he can't stand to see him sad. Michael was always so proud, unrufflable and to see him like this doesn't feel right. Running a hand through his hair, Lucifer sighs. "I hope you still like pancakes because that's where we're heading."

Michael looks up at that, and his intense blue gaze is on him, searching and gauging. Then, he gives him a small smile and nods, falling into step with Lucifer again. They walk the rest of the way to the diner in silence. It's not exactly uncomfortable, but more like they had reached a common ground. An understanding. Which is stupid because Lucifer is still confused as fuck.

But he's tired, though and he doesn't want to think anymore. They need to focus right now. Walker is a dangerous man, and they need to be at their best; 100%. Castiel is counting on him.

Lucifer finds his thoughts drifting to the boy. He still doesn't know what he feels towards him. The sudden attraction, the need coursing through him; not just sexual but the need to be close. Castiel fills this gaping hole inside him, he realizes. But why? And how? And why does it feels like the answer is staring him right in the face, but he's too blinded to see it? Fuck. He closes his eyes and pushes these confusing thoughts to the back of his mind. 

By the time they reach the diner, Lucifer is more than ready to quit thinking. And eat. As the smell of sizzling bacon reaches him, his stomach growls loudly. Maybe Michael is right. Who knows when they'll be able to eat next? It's not like they work regular hours.

The bell jingles as they walk into the diner. Lucifer heads to the corner booth, where it seems somewhat peaceful and quiet. The majority of the patrons favoring the service counter. They both slip into the both sitting at opposite side of one another. Lucifer grabs the menu, dying for some kind of distraction from those intense blue eyes staring a hole into him. If things keep going the way it is, he can already feel the beginning of a migraine forming. 

A voluptuous waitress with big boobs, small waist, and bubble butt stops by their table. She looks too cheery for the mood Lucifer is in, shooting them both a flashy smile. Notepad and pen in hand, she asks, "What can I get you, gentlemen?" Her eyes land on both of them before straying to Michael, and the watt of her smile increases. Her body languages shift. It's subtle, but it's there. The slight jut of her hips. The straightening of her back. The flirtatious look in her eyes that say they mean business. It grates on Lucifer's nerves. 

"I'll take a coffee. Black. And some waffles, please," he states, returning the menu to its place. Rubbing his temples, he closes his eyes and waits for the waitress to address Michael. White spots start to appear behind his eyelids, and there is a tension running down the back of his head to his shoulder blades. He hates migraine, especially those that messed with his neck. They're the worst. 

It takes him awhile to notice the silence. He didn't think he had heard Michael ordered. Blinking his eyes open, he looks across the table at the man who is frowning down at his menu like it's an especially complicated piece of puzzle. "Oh for the love of god..." He turns towards the waitress; voice clipped. "He'll have a black coffee and an apple pancake with lots of maple syrup." The waitress jots that down, tells them it'll be ready in a few minutes, winks and sashays back towards the kitchen.

When he turns back to Michael, he finds the man frowning at him. "If you don't like it, you'll just have to suck it up," he snaps, irritated. Michael just continues to stare at him, and he's getting more self-conscious and annoyed by the minute. He doesn't know why he's in such a foul mood, but Michael always seems to bring out the worst in him. He's about to make a rude comment when Michael breaks the silence. 

"So, what do you do now?"

"Oh, are we making small talks now? What's next? Talk about the fucking weather?"

Michael doesn't seem impressed, his mouth thinning. "From what I can gather, you're not exactly on the straight and narrow here. Let me guess. You're a bonafide pimp."

"Fuck you."

"You know, I have to say I've never pictured you as a pimp. Where are your blings?" Michael asks, a teasing smirk flirting at the corner of his lips.

"Seriously, fuck you." 

"Nah, you're fucking Castiel already. He might get jealous."

That came out of fucking nowhere, catching him like a slap to the face. It takes him awhile to process it and when he does, he freezes, staring wide-eyed at Michael. The man seems relaxed, at ease. His first instinct is to deny. Abort. He feels exposed all a sudden like Michael knowing this somehow bares him open. He feels vulnerable like his innermost deepest darkest secrets have been revealed. Secrets he hides even from himself. He realizes that he'd hesitated too long when Michael adds, "Do you fucked them all? Or is it just Castiel?" 

Desperately trying to collect himself, he puts on his best calm and indifferent face. "Who says I fuck them at all?" he replies coolly. He ignores his remark about Castiel. Michael is just making a wild guess, trying to pry information out of him. He's not going to be stupid enough to hand it to him on a silver platter. 

"I don't know about the others, but Castiel? You fucked him," he says it so matter of factly like one plus one equals two. Tilting his head, he continues, "I didn't know you were into men."

Whatever remaining cool he has vanishes. His defense falls apart leaving him open and unguarded. It's a question he's been asking himself many times. He doesn't think he's gay. He even went to a gay bar to test the theory and he was definitely not interested in men. Only Castiel. Considering his previous relationships were with females, he never questioned his sexuality, naturally assuming he's heterosexual. But now that he thinks about it, he had never felt any sexual attraction to the ladies as well. Not until months into knowing them. It was never the physicality of it that draws him in, he realizes. Doesn't matter their gender, it's who they are or what they meant to him that eventually attracts him. The sudden epiphany stuns him. He feels the sudden itch to Google. 

"One black coffee and waffles for you," The waitress is back, setting the coffee and plate of waffles down in front of Lucifer. "And one black coffee and pancake for Blue-Eyes." She winks at Michael, smiling seductively. Lucifer seethes. 

"Thank you," Michael says, polite as always. The waitress smiles wide and saunters back to the kitchen, glancing back at Michael as she goes. Lucifer grabs his fork and stabs the waffles, bringing his knife up to cuts viciously into it. "Are you ok?" Lucifer looks up, coming face to face with Michael's concern gaze. "If this is about my previous comment, I'm sorry. It's personal, and it's up to you whether you want to tell me or not. It's wrong of me just to assume."

"I'm not gay," he says, shaking his head. "I'm-" he sighs. "I don't know what I am. But I do know that gender doesn't play a determining factor in my having a relationship." He stares down at his plate and pretends to be focused on cutting his waffles. It's not something to be ashamed of but for some reason, he doesn't think he could look Michael in the eyes. It feels too much like baring his soul. That niggling feeling at the back of his mind prickles at his peripherals again, demanding his attention. He ignores it. "Why do you care so much if I fuck Castiel or not?" he asks instead, turning the tables around.

"Did you?" Lucifer stares at Michael and they are silent for a few moment, eyes locked. Neither one is confirming nor denying the statement. Then, Michael shrugs. "I can't help but notice that Castiel looks..." Michael seems to search around for the right word, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally settles on, "Familiar."

Lucifer frowns, his heart thumping wildly against his chest. That thing he's been ignoring scratches the surface, extending its claws. He knows that once he opens that floodgate, there's no turning back. It's so close now. And so dangerous. "What are you getting at?" he snaps, tone harsh. Why is he being so defensive? _You know why._ No, he doesn't. 

"Nothing," Michael replies, too fast not to be suspicious. But Lucifer lets it go. Dragging it all out in the open would not bode well for him. He just knows it. Keep it buried. Stay on neutral ground. "Let's finish this and go and meet Crowley," Michael sighs. 

Lucifer doesn't know if his mind is playing tricks on him or what, but Michael looks resigned as he cuts into his pancake, his eyes downcast. Digging into his waffles, he thinks. Yeah, it's better to keep things as they are. They have better things to worry about like Walker. At least with him, Lucifer is clear on what he needs to do. Everything else can go and fuck themselves. They eat their rest of their meal in silence.


	17. Chapter 17

"Crowley."

"Lucifer."

Lucifer is sitting across the pompous man, and they have been staring at each other for awhile now, both silently accessing. Crowley smiles and leans forwards, elbows on the table. "So what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"How did your associates enjoy the party Saturday night? I assume my boys are accommodating?"

"Ah, yes," Crowley nods looking pleased. "They are very fine indeed. Especially Dean. He still have some fight in him, but that's what I like. To see the fire in his eyes but knows there's nothing he can do about it. I dare say Dean is my favorite. Alastair sure knows how to pick them." Crowley leans back into his armchair. "But I'm assuming this is not just a social call? What can I do for you?"

"Always the businessman, I see. Good, straight to point. I like it." Lucifer pauses, pursing his lips. He has to choose his word carefully. The situation is delicate. Crowley is his business partner and associate and like Azazel, he doesn't want to piss the man off. But then again, he needs the info. He has to approach the matter with caution. "I need to find someone call Gordon Walker. And I've been told you might know where to find him."

At Walker's name, Crowley's features stiffens, and his body language becomes frigid. But he composes himself fairly quick and adjusts his position in his seat. "And what purpose do you have with this man?" At that, Lucifer breathes a sigh of relief. At least, Crowley isn't denying knowing the man. Lucifer might still be able to pry Walker's location from him. 

"He attacked Castiel. He and his men gang raped him," he explains, making sure to emphasize on the severity of the situation, his tone grave and somber. Crowley appears surprised by the news, shock coloring his face.

"What? When did this happen?"

"Last night."

Crowley seems to process the information, brows furrowing. Then, he stares up at Lucifer, expression serious. "How do you know it's him?" Lucifer takes out his mobile phone from his the inside of his jacket's pocket and unlock the screen. Then, he looks up the picture of Walker Azazel had sent over last night and hands the mobile to Crowley.

"Bollocks!"

Crowley curses when he sees the picture. He shoves the mobile angrily back at Lucifer, face twisted in frustration and displeasure. "That man can't keep it in his pants for one goddamn second!" he rants. Swirling towards Lucifer, he asks. "Is the police already involved with this?" Lucifer nods and Crowley lets out a string of expletives. He reaches out for his phone and pauses, glancing up at Lucifer. "There's something I need to take care of. We'll talk later."

"If you could just tell me where Walker is currently at, I'll be out of hair." 

"That won't be possible," Crowley says, slow and deliberate, his eyes serious. 

Lucifer narrows his eyes. "He hurt Castiel. He has to pay," he says in a quiet voice. They stare into each other eyes, both determined to have their way. The air grows thick around them, the tension in the room increase tenfold. Crowley's mouth thins and he sours. "You'll have the information. Just not now."

And understanding dawns on Lucifer. They're doing the exchange right now. That's why Crowley is so stressed. His heartbeat quickens. Should he wait and trusts Crowley to hand Walker to him later? Or should he try and pry the information right now? "I don't want him to get away, Crowley. That's not how I work. You hurt my men; you pay the price. Tell me where he is." 

Crowley's nostril flares. "How dare you come into my office and demands things of me," he barks. "Do you know who I am?" he bellows. "I can crush you."

The sudden outburst from the man surprises him but does not scare him. Keeping his face calm and collected, he leans forward and says softly, almost a whisper yet commands the attention of the room, "So can I." 

Crowley looks outraged. "Is that a threat? Are you're threatening me?" He points a finger towards the door. "Get out! Get out of my office!" he shouts. 

Sighing, Lucifer stands. He screwed up. The man is on the defense now, and there goes any hope of acquiring any information out of him. He hopes he hadn't just ruined their partnership. Giving Crowley a slight nod of the head, he takes a step back. "Of course," he says demurely hoping to appease the man. Lucifer isn't afraid of him. Like he said, he can crush him like a bug if he wants to, but unfortunately, he needs Crowley. He'll just have to suck up and play politics.

Crowley gives him a harumph and indicates the door, showing his dismissal. But he does seem less furious and indignant. Lucifer takes it as a good sign and leaves the office.

What a waste of time. And nothing to show for it. Michael is going to be so annoying, he laments. They have decided to split. Lucifer on Crowley and Michael on Hellhound. Part of him hopes Michael fails too, just so that he doesn't have to deal with his smugness; Michael is not going to let him live this down. Not for awhile at least. But then he remembered. Michael won't be even be around to rub his face in, long gone once the case is done. The prospect leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and a hole in his chest. 

So deep in thought, Lucifer didn't catches the swirl of red hair and walks straight right into another body. There's a gasp of surprise as they both got their breath knocked out of them. At least, they're still on their feet. The redhead bring her face up and shining green eyes widens as she recognizes him. 

"Anna," he acknowledges, adjusting his leather jacket. 

"Lucifer." Anna casts her eyes downwards, long red curls cascading down over her face. Anna is pretty, almost ethereal like an angel. She's a favorite among the clients. Slowly, Anna raises her head once more, big eyes curious. "What are you doing here?" She claps a hand over her mouth, her expression stricken. Then, she ducks her head, trying to make herself seems smaller. Alastair trained her well. It pains him to acknowledge that. 

"Something happened last night. Castiel was hurt. He's at the hospital now so he won't be cooking tonight." Remembering that fact, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out his wallet. "There's no more leftovers from Saturday. Could you prepare the dinner for tonight? I might not be back until tomorrow," he says, handing her two twenty notes.

The group home works on a rooster. The children are responsible for household chores like laundry, cooking, cleaning and gardening. It gives them a sense of responsibility. Castiel like to cook, and he does a good job of it, so it's usually him preparing their meals. The rest rotates around chores. They're free to switch as long as the chores get done. 

And ever since he started his side business, he had only trusted Castiel with the money. Since the home houses a number of people, the amount of cash needed for groceries is substantial. Enough for someone to buy a bus ticket and skips town. But considering the current circumstances, he thinks he could trust Anna. She always had a soft spot for the little ones at the house. Especially little Amelia. He doesn't think she would leave her. 

Anna's eyes widens, reflecting the florescent lights above them. "What happened? Is he okay?" she asks, concerned. 

"He will be fine," he assures her, adding "I need you to do something else for me. There's a calendar book on my desk. There's a list of clients that will be coming in tonight. Make sure they're entertained. Beside their names are initials. A.M. stands for you, D.W. stands for Dean and so on. So you know who gets who. Can you do that for me?"

He knows it's sadistic of him to ask Anna to pimp herself, but the business needs to go on. He can't afford to throw everything to the wind, not when Michael will leave after. And he still needs the money. No, nothing has changed. 

Anna is looking at him with fires in her eyes. Huh, she reminds Lucifer of Dean. Guess Alastair never really broke them after all. That's a comforting thought. Nevertheless, "Make sure the clients are happy and satisfied. If I hear otherwise, I don't need to remind you what's going to happen." The fire dims and Anna nods, averting her gaze. "Good." He shoulders pass Anna and continues down the hallway towards the exit.

Lucifer doesn't like doing this. It makes him feel like a bad person. He _knows_ he is a bad man, done enough bad things to warrant himself a place in hell. But still, he hates doing this. To children no less. But he can't be soft. Once the ball starts rolling, there's nothing he can do to stop it. Crowley wants the children on the streets, wants them for himself. He can't deny the man. He can't afford to show vulnerability. No, this is the way it has to be. It's not like he hadn't had enough practise numbing himself.

Stepping out into the sun, Lucifer slips on his sunglasses. He walks towards the back of the building where they parked the car. Michael is already there, leaning against a plain black Toyota Corolla. It's the rental car Michael had used while tracking Gordon from Sioux Falls. As he strides towards Michael, he finds himself absorbing the view in front of him. Knowing the sunglasses hides his eyes, Lucifer lets himself stares his fill. 

The man before him is the epitome of casual and relax as he leans on the side of the car, long legs crossed in front of him and hands in the pocket of his jeans. Michael has his face tilted up towards the sun, eyes closed unaware of his approach. Lucifer is determine to keep it that way, slowing down. There's a light scruff, just enough to give him a touch of shadow on his jaws. His black hair gleams in the sunlight, curling around his forehead, softening his features. 

Michael had taken off his leather jacket and is now clad only in a plain black t-shirt. It doesn't hang off his body nor does it clings too tight. Fit just enough to hint at the muscles underneath; the broad shoulder and flat stomach. Lucifer lets his gaze wanders to his sturdy arms, admiring the strength in them. They've sparred before, and he knows how it feels like to be wrapped in those arms. In contrast with his dark hair, Michael has pale skin. A mixture of peaches and cream. 

Michael sucks in a deep breath and Lucifer stutters in his movements. The dip in his collarbones hollows and Lucifer wonders what it feels like to press the flat of his tongue there. To lick a wet stripe up Michael's neck and laps at the salty skin. To be able to taste his heady musk instead of just smelling it. Imagine what it's like to kiss up that long thick neck. Marvel at the bizarre feeling of someone else's scruff rubbing against his own. Then, he would dip down and take those soft pink lips into his mouth- 

Lucifer blinks, stopping in his tracks, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. There's a tightness in his pants, and his breaths is shallow and haggard. He feels hot and he thinks he can feel his cheeks burning. Did he just sexually fantasized about Michael? Was that a twitch he feels in his pants? He shifts, trying to adjust himself. But as his half hard erection presses against the zipper, he can't help but shudders, the friction doing nothing to curb the sudden stirring in his guts. For the love of all God, control yourself! 

He prays Michael is still oblivious to what's going on in his pants. Closing his eyes and biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, he takes in a deep breath and exhales. He thinks of dead bodies and mutilated remains of tortured victims. The pressure against his zipper subsides immediately. Opening his eyes, he can feel his mortification mellows out and the heat on his cheeks subside. Feeling much steadier, he approaches Michael, who's blissfully unaware of the earth-shattering moment he went through. 

Michael chooses the moment to look down, probably sensing Lucifer's distress by proximity. Lucifer schools his expression to one of appropriate frustration, not that it's hard to do considering. "I've got nothing. Crowley refused to budge," he sulks. "The only thing I managed to glean off him is that the exchange is taking place now."

"I know," Michael says simply. He's radiating smugness and Lucifer's eyes narrows, giving him an unimpressed look. "I talked to Hellhound. He mentioned that, and he also said he's willing to tell us the location." Feeling relieved, Lucifer asks. "So where is it?" Michael nods at something behind him. Turning around, he sees a figure approaching them. It's a boy.

Michael straightens up. "Hellhound," he greets. "You said you have something for me." 

The boy nods, his eyes darting around the place. "It wasn't safe to talk inside."

"I understand. But nothing is stopping you out here. So, where's the exchange?" Michael asks. Lucifer stands back and stays silent. This is Michael's show now.

The boy reaches into his jacket. Lucifer tenses, hand automatically flexing to reach for the gun he keeps holstered at the bottom of his right leg. The boy notices the twitch and smirks, brown eyes cocky. "Tell your buddy to relax." He pulls out a folded piece of paper. "Here," he says, handing it to Michael. 

"Why are you helping us all a sudden?" Lucifer asks, can't help but be suspicious of the kid's motive. The smile on the kid's face is villainous. "No one replaces me." He flicks his eyes back to Michael. "Just promise me you screw up the exchange. Screw it up big time, I don't care how you do it," His expression is angry and bitter. "Just that you do." 

Michael nods. Hellhound gives them a mock salute, turns and walks away without another word. Once he's out of earshot, Michael turns around and shrugs, "I guess once Crowley knew he was compromised, he sent someone else." He starts to unfolds the paper. "See? It's not all a loss," he says, frowning down at the maplike printout. It's a set of directions printed from Google Map. Lucifer moves closer. 

"You've got to be kidding me," he mutters. He can't believe this. 

There, on the destination box, it reads: Lullaby Blues Motel.

\---

Voices filter through his consciousness. Just noises, harsh and loud and angry. Dean can't make out what is being said. They sound distant, far away. Like how the radio in the car sometimes get when his dad drove down a long stretch of highway in the middle of nowhere. Static filtering in at odd places. Music distorted, sounding eerier than they have any right to be. 

He tries to focus, to listen, but his head hurts like a stampede had came and went leaving a steady pounding that echoes on and on. In fact, it does feel like he'd been run over by a herd of buffaloes; his body heavy and limp. Dean groans and tries to open his eyes. What happened? He moves to rub his eyes but realizes he can't. Something is holding him back. His eyes snap open, panicked as he automatically starts to struggle. 

He trashes when he realizes that he's tied to a chair. Dread fills him slowly as he takes in the unforgiving tie-rip around his wrists and ankles. Dean snaps his head up, his eyes darting around the room, landing on the black man by the foot of the bed. His back is facing Dean. There's an open duffel bag on the bed beside him, stuffed full with clothes, cash and what appears to be packets of white powder. Drugs. 

The man shifts then, and Dean's eyes widen at the sight of a gun in his hands. He doesn't seem too bothered by Dean's struggles nor even hint at noticing him. There's a click as the man reloads the gun. Alarm bells ring in his head, adding to the cacophony already there. Dean is starting to panic. Is the man going to shoot him? Oh god, is it going to hurt? It's going to hurt like a son of a bitch, isn't it? He tenses when the man turns around and only relaxes when he just tosses the gun into the duffel bag.

The voice that woke him up continues to drone on even though the man doesn't seem to be speaking. For awhile there, Dean thinks he's hallucinating. He must have hit his head harder than he thought. But then he notices the lighted mobile phone lying on the bed and realizes that voice he's hearing comes from the speaker. And that voice has a British accent. 

_Crowley!_

Dean tries to yell for help, but what comes out is a muted cry. Screaming in frustration only to be muffled by the gag in his mouth, Dean sags. Breathing hard, he tries again getting frustrated when nothing happens. He starts crying, twisting and struggling against the tie-rips. It's getting harder to breath. His nose is clogged with snot, and he can't breathe through his mouth. The cloth is sucking all the moisture there and he feels dry and parched. At the same time, he can't stop drooling; saliva steadily leaks down his chin.

"What's that sound? Is that Dean? Bloody hell, what did you do to him?" Crowley's voice sounds tiny coming from the small device. A small spark of hope soars through Dean and he clings to it. Crowley knows where he is. He's not going to die. The man wouldn't dare kill him. Not when there's a witness. Right? He's not going to be leaving Sam. And Castiel. _Ohgod, Castiel!_

The video. His stomach roils as he remembers, gurgling dangerously. He's going to be sick. Panicking but unable to stop the lurch in his stomach nor the bile that rises up his throat, Dean pukes. I'm going to suffocate, he thinks once he realizes there's no place for the vomit to go. He makes a gagging sound, choking around the cloth in his mouth, dribble of puke seeping out at the corner. He coughs and splutters violently, unable to stop the seizure as his stomach continues to heave.

"Oh mother fuck, hang on." The cloth in his mouth is yanked out and Dean spews bile all over the floor as he gasps, trying to suck in as much air as possible all the while still coughing and floundering. Tears roll down his face as snot, saliva and puke cover the front of his shirt. There's a puddle of sick on the carpet between his legs. His whole body is trembling as small hiccups bubble out of him. Despite that, Dean manages to choke out. "Help..." His voice is raspy, more like a croak.

The man turns away in disgust, striding back towards the duffel, picking up his pace now. Zipping up the bag, he picks up the two briefcases from the floor and tosses it onto the bed. 

"Gordon, what in the bloody hell is happening over there? Answer me!" 

"Your boy just decided to puke all over himself. Where's Hellhound? I missed the guy." The man- Gordon sounds flippant, amused even like he's not in the least bothered by everything that's going on in the room. He flashes Dean a smile, a grin from ear to ear but no so much as even touch his eyes. Dean's blood chill. This man is a fucking psycho! "The bitch you sent me got balls. I'll give him that. He kicked me in the nuts!" he laughs. The hair on the back of Dean's neck stands. 

"I'm doing business with morons," Crowley mutters. "Alright, listen. There are some pretty awful people coming after you. And I don't want to get stuck in the middle as you can see how that would be bad for business. So here's the deal," he pauses for effect before letting out an impressive shout, "Give Dean my coke and get the hell out of dogde!"

"Dean? You're Dean?" Gordon cocks an eyebrow at him. "Not as fierce as Hellhound, but okay, Dean-o is cool." He smiles that crazy smile again. The light catches in his eyes. Both pupils are dilated. Shit, the man's high as fuck. Gordon turns his attention back to his mobile. "Who's coming after me?" he ask, voice serious, his gait alert. Dean blinks at the sudden change in demeanor.

"Lucifer. Apparently you attacked one of his whores yesterday. Blue eyes? The face of an angel?"

"Ah, yes I remembered. Sweet boy. A friend of yours, right?" Gordon nods at him, smirking before moving towards the bathroom. Dean frowns after him pumped full with nervous energy. He tries to keep Gordon in sight, but the man disappears behind the door. What is he doing in there? 

Dean tries to calm himself down, ignoring the foul stench surrounding him. Crowley mentioned Lucifer. So Lucifer knows too. And he's coming for Gordon. Does that mean he knows where they are? Is he coming? Does he know Dean is here?

"Lucifer is determined to hunt your ass. And I daresay he will most likely succeed. Normally, I wouldn't give a rat ass but I do consider you to be a good ally and I don't want to lose my supply. So, why don't you just do what we agreed upon, hand over the goods to Dean and we can forget this ever happen and meet again next month. Preferably in better circumstances. I don't think I'm asking too much. So why are we still talking?" Crowley seems to be at his wits end if his shouts are any indication.

Gordon walks back out the bathroom, a bottle in one hand and a cloth in the other. His face is dark, displeased. "Lucifer," he scoffs. "Never heard of the guy. I'm not afraid of him. He wants to come, let him come. I would love to pick his bones," he says, pouring the content of the bottle onto the cloth.

"Morons," Crowley mutters again.

"Tell Hellhound to come to the Denny's around the corner. Wait out back. Be there in-" He looks at his watch. "10 minutes. You'll have your goods then."

"And Dean?"

Gordon smiles. "Dean is staying." The dam that has been holding back his panic and fear, the one that is still harboring hope breaks, flooding him with icy cold terror. "If Lucifer is so riled up when I hurt one of his little whores. What happens when I hurt two?" Gordon grins as he approaches him, his movement predator-like. He pours more of the content in the bottle onto the cloth, soaking it. 

Staring at the cloth, he finally gets it. Gordon is going to knock him out. And there's no way Dean can stop him. He's dead. Dean's done for. With that final thought, he finally breaks. It's all or nothing. Dean doesn't give a fuck anymore. He laughs, a booming sound, shoulders shaking. It doesn't matter that he's sitting in his own sick and covered in puke, he laughs, boisterous and loud. 

"Lucifer is going to rip you to pieces, you son of a bitch. You're so dead, and you don't even know it," he spits out, sobering. He scoffs, shaking his head in pity. "It's so sad, it's funny." Dean can't believe he's placing his chips on Lucifer, the man that started his nightmare in the first place, but he does. Right now, Lucifer is like a lifeline and he's holding on tight, desperate to see a way out of this impossible predicament. 

Gordon comes to a stop in front of him and leans down, putting his face incredibly close, their nose almost touching. "We'll see about that," he sneers. 

Dean has been expecting it but it still shocks him when Gordon covers his mouth and nose with the cloth. The strong smell of ether and chloroform hit him hard. Determined not to struggle, knowing there's no point for it, he holds Gordon gaze. Dean holds his breath for as long as he can and tries not to inhale the chemical. But it's fruitless. Soon, he can feel the chemical fumes burns up his nostrils and down his throat. Even as he stares into the blackness of the Gordon's eyes, he feels himself losing consciousness for the second time today. The darkness calls to him. Dean closes his eyes.

\---

"The whole time, Walker is right under our noses. Do you mind explaining how this managed to escape your notice?" Lucifer knows his tone is accusing but it is not like Michael at all to be so careless that he failed to detect that the target is staying in the same motel as he is. He never make such mistakes. Michael is too thorough. 

Blue eyes widens, and Michael opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He looks like a lost puppy. Lucifer doesn't have the heart to rub it in even if he's angry. Which he isn't. Instead, he feels a stab of concern. "Michael, this is so unlike you." He stares at the man in front of him, bewildered. "Is everything alright?"

Michael blinks up at him, devastated and Lucifer almost, _almost_ reaches out and pulls him into a hug. But he didn't. And then, Michael schools his expression, snapping his mouth shut, lips set in a thin line, eyes hard. He can physically see Michael closing in on himself; the change is that obvious. Blue eyes turn cold, face impassive. It's like watching a warrior putting on his steel plates of armor. The helm sliding into place. 

"You're right. I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me. How I got to be so distracted that I-" Michaels shakes himself. "Walker had been coming to this town for three months but each time he stayed in a different motel. Lullaby Blues is one of them. I assume he would continue in this pattern. That's my fault. I should have been more aware." He looks Lucifer right in the eyes, face stoic. "I apologized. That will never happen again. I swear." The look on his face, the seriousness in his eyes, the adamant clench of the muscles around his mouth. It seems more like he's making a promise to himself than to Lucifer. 

Without another word, Michael gets into the driver seat and starts the car. The sound of the engine roaring to life spurs Lucifer into action. Sliding into the passenger seat, he buckles himself in. Michael pulls out from the lot. The car ride is silent, tense. Lucifer chances a glance at the man beside him. Michael's eyes are sharp and alert, his movement sure and deliberate and Lucifer knows, he had lost him. Job modus Michael is different from the Michael who complains about cold feet in the winter. He doesn't know why he's whining. Maybe it's because he misses the easy camaraderie between them. 

Although they're on a time crunch, Michael drives at the speed limit. He flicks on the signals when he has to make a turn, making sure to stop at red lights and slows down for road bumps. Basically, he's obeying all the traffic rules to a fault. It's standard procedure. Michael doesn't want to give the police any reason to stop him.

It's a pretty short drive, plus minus 10 minutes. When they reach the motel, Michael put the car in park, and they step out into the afternoon sun. The motel seems more intimidating than it was when he's here this morning. Even with the prospect of facing Michael. Crouching down on one knee, he pushes up the hem of his jeans and unholsters his gun. It's a Glock 19, his preferred weapon of choice. Standing up, he tucks it into the waistband of his jean at the small of his back, taking comfort in its reassuring weight. He's ready as ever. Glancing over at Michael, who nods in affirmation, they proceed to the motel side by side.

The cool air of the motel prickles at the sweat clinging to their skin. They glance around surreptitiously, on the look out in case Walker is in the area. "We still need his room number," he reminds Michael. They both turns to look at the receptionist. "Okay, you'll distract him, and I'll get onto the computer," Michael informs him.

"Why do I have to distract him?"

"Because you're the more charismatic of the two of us. Now go." Michael nudges him forward with his shoulder. Then, he moves towards the edge of the room, pretending to be busy with his mobile phone. Flustered, Lucifer arranges his jacket and walks towards the counter. The boy behinds it immediately stands up when he senses his approach. He has ginger red hair, a fair complexion, and bright blue eyes. He looks eager to please. This should be easy.

"How can I help you, sir?" the boy asks all polite manners. Lucifer glances at the name tag on his white button down, with red collars and button. Alfie it reads. 

"Alfie, is it?" At the boy's nod, he continues. "Well, my partner is in room 4d, and there seems to be a problem with the water. It's not heating up. And he really need a shower if you get what I mean. We're all," Lucifer lifts his hands and rubs his fingers together. "Sticky."

Alfie blushes, splotchy red coloring his cheeks. "Oh! Yes, um. Here, let me check them for you." Alfie picks up a toolbox from under the counter and gestures towards the elevator. "Come on then. You can show we where the problem is," he says smiling.

Lucifer smiles. "Thank you, Alfie." He follows the boy, the corner of his eyes catches Michael darting behind the counter. He makes sure to stand between Alfie and his view of the computer. Not that it's necessary because the boy's gaze is fixed ahead of him. His mobile beeps. Taking it out, he says, "Oh, it seems like my partner got it fixed. I'm sorry to trouble you and wasted your time."

"No worries, sir. I'm glad it's solved." Alfie smiles at him and nods. "Have a good day, sir." He walks back towards the counter and after a moment, Michael appears beside him. "Room 5c," he mutters. "And what did you say to the boy? I can see him blushing from here. You didn't flirt with him, did you?" Lucifer had already pressed the up button and they're currently waiting for the elevator to arrive.

"I just mentioned that we had sex and needed a shower, but there was no warm water." He doesn't know why he said that but once it's out, he can't help but glance over at Michael to see his reaction. Michael has a stunned look on his face, then a slight blush creeps up his face. The man narrows his eyes at him, annoyed. "You didn't." The blush looks adorable on him, and Lucifer finds himself egging him more. 

"I did. And you're the bottom." The blush darkens, and Michael scowls at him. Lucifer winks just as the elevator dings. The both of them automatically step to the side as the elevator doors open. Lucifer has a hand inconspicuously on the butt of his gun, ready. When the doors slide open all the way, revealing it to be empty inside, he relaxes. They get into the elevator, and Michael presses the button for the fifth floor.

"I can't believe you told him that," Michael grumbles as he looks up at the blinking light.

"Why not?"

Michael shrugs. "Because he'll think we're gay."

"Does that bothers you?" Even if he's not gay, his heart throbs as he waits for Michael's reply. What if Michael is homophobic? And from how uncomfortable he looks right now, he guesses that Michael is straight. He had always wondered about the man. The two years they had spent together, he had never seen the man get laid. Granted, they're not allowed to bring their hookup back to the house but he had always wondered. That knowledge doesn't do anything to lighten his mood. Instead, it deflates it.

Michael shrugs again. He can tell that this bugs Michael, but he's pretending to be casual about it. His curiosity peaks. "No. But some people believed it to be a sin." Lucifer frowns. "Do you believe that?" he asks. Before Michael could answer, the elevator dings again. The two of them moves to the side like it's they're doing an old dance routine. Seeing the empty hallway, they step out together. The tension is piling up, and Lucifer can feel the familiar adrenaline rush coursing through his veins.

As they approach the door with number 5c hanging from it, they could hear soft cries coming from the room. They look at each other, both drawing their guns. Then, Michael steps in front of the door and with one swift kick, with the heel of his foot landing beside the knob, the door crashes open. Already familiar with the layout of the room, Michael moves inside, swift and graceful, his arms out in front of him. He first secures the small hallway and then the bathroom. Lucifer follows close behind, walking past Michael to secure the main room.

The room is empty. Walker had already left. Lucifer lowers his hands as he glances around the room. It smells like vomit in here, and it's immediately confirmed when he sees the puddle of sick drying on the carpet floor. He puts a hand over his nose and tries to breath in through his mouth. The stench is sour and nauseating. It doesn't take him long to identify the source of the cries. It comes from a movie playing on the wall tv. Moving so that he's standing in front of it, he watches the scene unfolds.

Red hot rage seeps into his every pore. His heart beat races, pumping blood through his veins. His breaths quickens, chest heaving. His throat feels clogged, eyes watering from how intense his gaze is trained on the screen. His jaw hurts from how hard he's grinding down, his teeth gnashing together. The veins on the side of his head throb. The cries die down only to be replaced by a deep buzzing, steadily getting louder and louder in his ears until it threatens to deafen him.

He can't move. His body feels stiff, his back tensed, his spine feels like lead. But his hands, they tremble at his side, shaking so hard his grip on his gun loosens. There's a loud panting noise accompanying the buzz, someone wheezing and gasping. With a jolt, he realizes it was him. It's getting harder and harder to breathe, the air in the room so thick, it feels like he's underwater. 

Castiel is naked and bloody on the restroom floor surrounded by men. The blood stains on the floor and those smearing the wall stand out at him like a flashing neon light. The blood. So much blood. The scene before him blurs, replaced by a familiar setting. Four walls. No windows. A metal door. The smell of human excrement, urine and feces assault his nostrils. His throat bobs, bile threatening to rise up. He knows he's imagining the smell, knows he's in a motel room and not in some 4 by 4 cell lying in his own mess. Consciously, he knows that but he can't stop himself from shaking and the tears from spilling out. 

A warm hand on his shoulder draws his attention away from the screen. Michael is standing in front of him, face concerned, blue eyes worried. He's talking, his mouth opening and closing, but Lucifer couldn't hear a single thing, the roar in his ear too loud and all he can do is stare. And stares as tears fall freely down his face. Both of Michael's hands are on his shoulders now, and he's leaning close, keeping eye contact. 

Before he knows it, Lucifer is being pulled into a hug. Michael wraps his arms around him and grip him tight. Lucifer's stunned, momentarily breaking out of the nightmare he's stuck in. His muscles unclenched, and suddenly he can't hold himself up any longer. Like a marionette with its strings cut, he collapses. Michael supports most of his weight as he leans heavily into the man. Michael's arms are solid around him, his strength real. With trembling hands, he wraps his own arms around Michael's body, hugging him back with what remaining strength he has.

He shoves his face into the space between Michael's shoulder and neck and closes his eyes. He lets Michael's warmth, so real and so there soothes him. He's afraid, he realizes. He's so afraid. His grip tightens, and Michael hugs him tighter, pulling him in closer. He doesn't know how long they both stand there like that. But it must have been awhile because when he resurfaces, his legs feel wobbly, and his whole body aches like he had been running a marathon. 

Throughout his episode, Lucifer had remained silent, not letting a single noise out. But as he leans away from Michael, standing on his own two feet, he whispers a hoarse, "Thank you." Michael is still looking at him, concerned, one hand still holding onto Lucifer's shoulder. He doesn't say anything, just gives him a small smile and stands back. And for that, Lucifer is grateful.

They never talked about what happened to Lucifer during his captivity. They both acknowledge that it happened, that it is Lucifer's past, his history, but they never talked about it. Michael never asked and Lucifer never tells. Michael lingers for a moment, eyes on Lucifer like he's worried he might collapse again. He recognizes Lucifer's episodes for what it is. A PTSD episode. It happened frequently during the first few month he stayed with Michael.

Still with a wary eye on him, Michael turns around and walks towards the desk. There's an envelope lying on top of it. He picks it up, lifting it up for Lucifer to see. On the front of the envelope, in capital letter is Lucifer's name. Shakily, he stumbles towards the desk. They both share a look. Then, reaching for the envelope, grateful that his hands are no longer trembling, he rips it open and takes out the piece of paper inside.

On it is two hand written words. _'Game on.'_


	18. Chapter 18

Rereading those two simple words, Lucifer crunches up the paper in his hands and throws it across the room. Walker knew he was coming. He had set up the video and left his message as a taunt. To mock him. To dare him to come and get him. It's a direct challenge. How did he know Lucifer was coming? How did he even know about Lucifer in the first place? Someone must have warned him.

Fucking Crowley. The Brit is getting to be a real pain in the ass.

The sound of the men jeering and whooping blast from the tv. Lucifer whips around and rips the thumb drive out from the side of the tv screen. The room falls into silence as the video cut off. Turning around, Lucifer surveys the room. He takes in the messy bed, the wet rag and the puddle of sick. He knew Crowley sent someone else in Hellhound's place, and it seems like it hadn't gone well. Crouching down, he picks up the cut open tie-rips on the floor. Whoever it was, he or she was bounded. 

He stands up when he hears muffled footsteps behind him. Michael is walking towards him, holding a fluffy white towel. "It's still wet. And there's still moist in the bathroom. We just missed him." He drops the towel on the bed and scans the room. "We should check the security cameras, see if any of them catches Walker leaving." He pauses, looking at Lucifer. "Do you think he's alone? According to Castiel, he had four men with him."

Lucifer shakes his head. "I don't know. This is a single room but his men might be spread out throughout the motel." Showing Michael the tie-rip in his hand, he adds. "Whoever Crowley sent, Walker has them." They both share a meaningful look. Michael's eyes flick towards the tv, expression dreaded and pensive, and Lucifer doesn't need to be a mind reader to tell what's going on in his head. Whoever that person is, he or she has no idea what they had gotten themselves into.

Voice low and serious, Lucifer voices out the elephant in the room. "He knew we were coming. He knew about me, Michael. He knows my name." He gestures towards the tv. "Walker is taunting me. He _wants_ me to come after him. You know the type. Narcissistic. Borderline personality disorder. Add drugs to the mix and we've got a full-blown psychopath on our hands. He's already got something planned next. And we have no idea what." The situation has turned a complete 180°. "I have a bad feeling about this, Michael. I don't like it one bit." 

Michael nods, his face grave. "First thing first, you can't go back to the home." Lucifer opens his mouth to argue, but Michael cuts him short. "Walker knows who you are. He knows where you live. No, it's safer to stay away first. For you and the kids. Our saving grace is that he doesn't know about me. Yet." Michael takes out his mobile phone. "We need to stick together from now on. And we need a new place to stay. Gordon may have a plan, but we need to keep ourselves unpredictable."

Lucifer nods, watching as Michael lifts the mobile to his ear. "Who are you calling?"

"A friend of mine who owes me a favor. I'm going to get a place to stay."

"Alright. I'll go and check the security tapes in the meantime. Meet me back at the car in 15 minutes?" he suggests. Michael nods.

Lucifer gives the room one last perusal. He still has the thumb drive in his hands, gripped tight between his fingers. They will need this to help identify the other men. A dreaded feeling settles in his guts. His episode shocked him. It's been awhile since he last had them. The video had caught him by surprise and maybe that's why it had triggered him. Nonetheless, the prospect of watching it again is daunting. He slips the thumb drive into his jacket pocket and exits the room.

On the way down to the reception, Lucifer remains caution. Just because Walker isn't in his room anymore, doesn't mean he's not in the building. Still hyper aware of his surrounding, he approaches Alfie. The boy seems surprised to see him again. "Is the heater not working again, sir?"

Lucifer just passes over the mobile phone in his hand. He had called Azazel on his way down the elevator, explaining the situation and what he needs. Azazel was more than willing to help out, sharing the same sentiment as Lucifer about Walker. Also, he doesn't want Walker to attract more attention than he could handle. The last thing he needs is for the Feds to be involved. He's trying to keep this as low key as possible and is in accordance with Lucifer's plan to silence him. Out of the public eye, silent and unobtrusive. 

Alfie stares at the phone in confusion. At Lucifer's nod, he takes it, careful not to accidentally swipe or touch the screen that is currently opened on Facetime. Azazel's ugly mug is staring out of it. Alfie's eyes widen in surprise as he recognizes the man on the screen which is not all that surprising considering the number of times Azazel had appeared on the local news and papers. He somewhat of a local celebrity. 

"Sir?" he asks.

"Who am I speaking with?" Azazel asks. 

"The name is Alfie Young, sir," Alfie answers respectfully.

"Good. Alfie, I need you to listen very carefully. I'm going to need you to show the man-" Here, Alfie glances up at Lucifer, who gives him smiles and a small wave of his hand. "-all the security footages you have and to give your full cooperation as if the man himself is an officer of the law. Can you do that, Alfie?" 

Alfie nods then shakes his head. "Umm, sir. I would love to give the police my full cooperation but-" Alfie looks uncomfortable, pulling at the collar of his shirt. "Uhh... the cameras around the building doesn't work. They're fake. It's more towards prevention, you know. It gives the false impression of security. You see my dad; he's the motel owner. With business the way it is, we can't afford it. The only one that is working is the one here." Alfie directs the phone at the camera in the corner right above him. Looking back at the phone, he adds, "I can show the footage for this camera."

"Do that. And do whatever the man says." Alfie nods furiously. "Thank you, Alfie. We appreciate your help. The city thank you." Alfie smiles widely, his small chest puffing out just the little bit at that. A moment later, Azazel ends the call.

Alfie hands the phone back to Lucifer. "So, what you said earlier, about the hot water. That's a lie, wasn't it?" Lucifer smirks. Alfie's blue eyes dawn with comprehension and his mouth forms a small 'O' before he reverts to his professional demeanor again. Clearing his throat, he nods towards the door behind him that says 'Employees Only.' "We'll need to go to my dad's office," he says, holding a hand out to lead the way. "If you don't mind my asking, did something happened? Maybe I saw or heard something," he says as they enter the hallway.

Thinking there's no harm in asking, Lucifer questions. "Do you remember renting a room to a big black man? It should be during sometime yesterday evening."

"A big black man..." Alfie scrunches up his face, thinking hard. "Oh, you mean, Gordon Walker? He's a guest here. He checked in last night around eleven." He stops in front of a door, turning to look at Lucifer. "Why? Did he do something? I wouldn't be surprised if he did. That man has a nasty temper. He stayed here before." He shudders. "I'll never forget that night."

"Why? What happened?"

"The last time he was here, he checked in with a prostitute. Well at least that's what I think she was, you know mini skirt, fishnet, low top and too much eyeliner. Late that night, I received at least five calls complaining about the screams. I mean, I know what this is," he says motioning at their surrounding. "There's no point sugarcoating it or try to market it differently. 90% of our clients come here to have sex. The walls are pretty thin, but people don't often call to complain. But not that night."

"So I went up to see what the deal was. When I reached his floor, I almost had a heart attack. The girl was screaming like a banshee. The hair on my hands literally stood up," Alfie emphasizes, bringing up his arms and gesturing to the fine hairs there. "My hands were shaking so bad it took me three tries before I unlocked the door." He shivers, turning back to the door and fishing out a set of keys from his pant pocket. As he unlocks it and pushes it open, he adds. "What I saw inside... It still gives me nightmares."

Alfie enters the room and flips on the light. "What did you see?" Lucifer asks, curious. He wants to know what kind of monster he's dealing with. This isn't just about Castiel anymore. The man is a threat to him now too. And of course, there's Michael. He's hunting Walker and whatever they can glean from the man would only help. Alfie didn't answer him, walking towards the desk and leans down in front of the computer. He types something in and stands back, finally meeting Lucifer's eye. His boyish face is grim and sad. 

"The girl was tied to the bed, spread eagle. Mr. Walker wasn't there anymore, and so were his things. The poor girl's wrist and ankles were scrapped raw. Her face was bruised beyond recognition; she can't even open her eyes. She lost three of her teeth," Alfie shudders, rubbing his arms as he continues. "She's naked, and there were all kinds of... 'things' on her. She's bleeding, and she peed herself. The bed was drenched with it. It was horrible."

"There's a wad of $50 bills poking out from her vagina. And-" Alfie has turned a pasty white, and he looks nauseated as he says, voice just above a whisper. "Mr. Walker stuffed a bottle of whiskey; the one we provide in the mini fridge, in her ass. And not the part where you drink from either." He swallows. "She was all torn up and crying; I don't even know where to touch her where she wouldn't hurt. I ended up calling 911."

"Why hadn't the police heard of this?" By 'police' he means Azazel. It surprises him that violence of this level escaped his attention. 

Alfie shrugs. "Maybe Mr. Walker threatened her? I don't know, but she ended up not pressing charges. Said it was all consensual between two consenting adult and that she didn't know her limits. I think she just doesn't want to get into trouble with the police. Plus, that looked like a lot of money in her. Who knows? That was a few months ago, though. Three months maybe? Haven't seen him since. Not until yesterday. I should have expected this. Did someone got hurt?" Alfie asks. He looks guilty. 

"We don't know yet. But we think he got someone with him. That's why we need to watch the footages." Lucifer walks overs to the computer, feeling disturbed. Walker is obviously deranged. The amount of violence he's capable of and the fact that he does it for the hell of it. Without any reasoning, rationale or objective behind it. He takes pleasure from the tortures he inflicts. It leaves him cold.

In his line of business, Lucifer had faced a variety of personalities. From the sadist to the power crazy. He had experienced first hand what it was like to be at the mercy of such people. The things Abel did to him, it's a miracle he isn't more broken. But even people like Abel couldn't hold a candle to Walker. Abel acted out of vengeance. There was a purpose behind this form of torture. But Walker, it's a whole different ballgame.

Alfie motions towards the computer screen in front of him. "Here are today's footages." Lucifer pulls out a chair and sits, pushing himself closer to the table and grabs hold of the mouse. "You said Walker checked in around 11 pm. Was he alone or did he had company?" 

Alfie is quiet for a moment while Lucifer scrolls through the videos. It seems like the motel keeps a week worth of footage before throwing them out. When Alfie speaks, his voice is nearer, almost in his right ear. Lucifer startles, flicking his eyes to Alfie's face that's peeking over his shoulder. "No, sir. He wasn't alone. He came in with a group of about 4-5 men. Here, I can show you." He taps Lucifer's hand, and when Lucifer lets go of the mouse, Alfie takes control of it and clicks on one of the videos on the screen. 

The video pops up and Alfie fast forwards it until the timestamp in the corner says 10:45 pm. Then he steps back. Lucifer watches the screen. The footage covers the back of the counter where he sees Alfie sitting and a faraway shot of the entrance. The reception area os empty at the moment but about 5 minutes later, a group enters. He recognizes Walker immediately, walking towards the counter. They all seems heavy footed like they been out drinking and partying.

He plucks the thumb drive from his pocket and stick it in the USB port. There's no sound coming from the computer. He turns up the volume on the video but still nothing. "Why is there no sound?" he asks. The men are talking. He wants to hear what's being said.

"Oh, um. The sounds system doesn't work anymore on this computer. Sorry about that," Alfie explains sounding sheepish. 

Okay, not ideal but no matter. Lucifer minimizes the video and drags the file into the thumb drive's folder. They can watch it on Michael's laptop later. When the group of men exits the screen, all with keys to their own room, he looks up from the screen and says, "I will need to see all their rooms as well." Alfie nods. "I'll give you the keys to them." Satisfied, Lucifer returns his attention to the computer.

He clicks open the footages for today. If he's right about the exchange happening during his visit to the school, then his timeline of interest should be around 10:45 am to- He glances at his watch. 12:03 pm. He fast forward the video and slow it down when the time stamp reads 10:40. Keeping his eyes trained on the entrance, he waits. The person who Crowley sent to Walker should be coming in through the door anytime soon. He assumes the person would be a teenager. 

The quality of the video is poor and pixelated, but he's still able to make out the person who enters the building. At approximately 10:53 am, a boy around 6ft and blonde hair walks in. His whole body language screams of unease and agitation. He looks around the area nervously before he goes in the direction of the elevator. The boy has a briefcase with him. And Lucifer knows who he is. That's Dean Winchester. Crowley sent Dean to Walker, the motherfucker. 

Lucifer hits the fast forward button again and waits for them to come down. There's no sign of life in the area for the next 50 minutes except for Alfie until he sees Michael and himself entering the building. He freezes. But he hadn't seen Walker exiting the motel. How is that possible? There's only one elevator so they couldn't have left without them seeing. The hair on his arms stands. They couldn't still be in the building, could they? An icy dread pierces deep into his bones. Of course, they could! They have plenty of rooms to go to! They'd only checked Walker's room. How fucking stupid can they be? Fuck.

_Michael!_

He's about to leap out of the chair but just manages to calm himself down enough to ask. "Is there another way someone could leave the motel without going through the entrance?"

"Actually, yes. There's the backdoor that comes out into the back alley behind the building. Sometimes, our customer would use it when they don't want to be seen," Alfie supplies. Before Lucifer even asks, he adds. "We don't have a camera there, I'm sorry," he grimaces. 

Lucifer pulls the thumb drive out and stuffs it in his pocket, standing up. "Alright, now get me the keys to the other room," he demands, pulling out his mobile phone and dialing Michael's number as they go. He hopes Walker is really gone and not hiding in one of his men's room. He had left Michael alone. What if- He doesn't want to think about it. His heart beats a rapid pace, worried and tense. A cold sweat starts to break out on his back and forehead. _Cmon, answer the goddamn phone!_

The calling tone goes on and on until- click. It connects.

\---

Castiel blinks awake, feeling a little groggy. He had fallen asleep after Lucifer left. Talking about what happened drained him. He was a raw shivering mess by the time he was done. Throughout it all, Lucifer had been kind and understanding, soothing him, his eyes concerned and furious at the same time. Furious, not at him, Castiel can tell but at the men who did this to him. He was grateful for it but at that moment, he ached for Dean and his warmth. 

A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. He can't believe Dean had sneaked into the hospital last night to see him. He even made up this whole elaborate ruse too. Castiel huffs a laugh, feeling his heart warms at the thought. No one had ever gone so far out of their way for him before. And waking up to Dean, that's something he could get used to. Waking up to bright green eyes, freckled face and full soft lip. That he could kiss whenever he wants to. Because they're a couple now. 

The smiles grows, and he has to curb his excitement. This would be his first real relationship. Castiel has an actual boyfriend now. With someone as kind and good as Dean Winchester, who had cared enough to shed tears for him, felt for him enough to feel his pain and make it his own. That is something Castiel is not used to have. All his life, he had only known loneliness and solitary. And in recent times, violence. 

At school, he's known as the weird, awkward kid that no one pays attention too. That changed drastically however when he’d been outed. The person he had a crush on tricked him. And he ended up as the school’s laughing stock for months. 

Someone penciled his name in the boy’s toilet door. For free BJs contact Castiel Novak. There’s a crude drawing accompanying the message. Once the news got out, it spread like wildfire. He had been the school's punching bag ever since.

His home life wasn't much different minus the hostility. Mostly, it was just him and his books. Reading had always been his out. At least, when he reads, he wouldn't be too aware of the silence surrounding him. The lack of attention, love, and affection. Sometimes, it feels like he's living in an empty house. 

So he reads and fantasized. Maybe it's not a very boyish thing to do, but he dreamt of one day having someone by his side when he reads. Someone who would touch his hands or play with his hair unconsciously. They don't have to talk, but their presence speaks a thousand words.

He was so deprived of human touch; one that doesn't threaten bodily harm on him that when he met Lucifer, Castiel had thought he was the answer to everything. But it turns out, Lucifer is just another form of hell. A more painful one. Because Castiel had loved him. And he honestly believed Lucifer felt the same. Even when he sold him out, he convinced himself it's just a different form of love. And he craved it. Whatever little affection Lucifer decided to throw his way, Castiel gobbled it up, starved. 

He had always lived a lonely life. Never known or experienced any differently. To be honest, he's terrified. Part of him is scared that what he feels for Dean or what they have aren't real. That it's another illusion, another trick. He doesn't trust himself to see things for what they are anymore. What if he's lying to himself again? What if he's so broken from what happened yesterday that he clings to the next thing he sees? What if he's some kind of parasite that needs to latch onto something to live because he can't do it by himself? No matter how toxic the relationship is, he'll endure because that's what he is?

He shakes his head, ridding himself of these depressing thoughts. He can't think like this. If he goes down this path, he thinks he might kill himself. And he doesn't want to. He wants to live. He wants to find love and grows old together. He wants a big family, to have children and grandchildren. He wants to go to his grave smiling because he had lived a long full life with no regrets. He wants all those things, and he won't get them if he continues in this line of thinking. So he shakes them off and closes his eyes. 

Dean is different. He's a good man. He's not using Castiel. Dean's not gaining anything by being his boyfriend except his love and affections. He had not made any demands or requests of him apart from his steadfast belief that Castiel's good. He wanted Castiel to see himself the way Dean does, to not be afraid to stand up for himself. Castiel is still having a hard time digesting that but the funny thing is, Dean believes in him. Even when he is such a mess, Dean trusts him. And he loves him. And that in itself is a miracle. He should hold on to that. 

Castiel opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling, feeling lighter. He doesn't know what he did to deserve Dean, but he's glad for his presence in his life. There's a dopey smile on his face when someone knocks on the door. He glances towards it, hopeful. Dean did say he's going to visit him today. But it isn't Dean at the entrance.

Instead, it's Anna. She's standing by the open door, a nervous smile on her face. "May I come in?" she asks. The room Castiel is occupying is empty except for him; his roommate having left the hospital early this morning. He nods and tries to sit up, wincing as the small movement causes his ribs to scream in protest. Anna is by his side in an instant, her hands on his arms as she helps him adjusts to the new position. Once settled, he smiles up at Anna.

"Thank you, Anna," he says, grateful for her company albeit a little surprise. "How did you know I'm here?"

"Lucifer. But he didn't tell me what happened." Anna's eyes roam over him, widening in horror as she takes in the ugly bruises covering his body. They have turned a dark blue color, almost purplish. In a softer voice, she asks, "How are you feeling?" She takes a seat in the chair by his bed. 

"Better," he answers. It's the truth. He does feel better. He is still in pain but he's healing. He's alive with no permanent damage and for that he's grateful. When Anna doesn't look convinced, he adds, "It looks worse than it actually is." Then, to lighten the mood up, he changes track. "How did you get here?"

"By bus. Lucifer gave me money for groceries. There were some left, and I was worried. I have to come and see you. You know, just to be sure you didn't die on us or anything. Plus, I thought you might appreciate the company," Anna says with a broad smile. "Also, someone needs to bring you your homework. You don't get to slack off just because you're in the hospital. So, are you up for it?" Anna asks cocking one eyebrow up. 

Castiel appreciates Anna's attempt at making this seems casual. But he knows. He knows what a big gesture this is but he plays along because if he doesn't, he thinks he might cry. So he laughs. "And here I was expecting flowers or maybe a fruit basket but no, you brought me homework," he jokes back, giving Anna a warm smile. Then, more sincerely he says, "Thank you, Anna.

Anna just waves him off and bends down to fumble in her bag, pulling out a notebook. Castiel wriggles up the bed, sitting straighter.

"Don't mention it," Anna smiles back, bright and sweet as she hands over her notebook. "These are my notes from today's lesson and the homework we're supposed to do. If you need help understanding my notes, I don't mind staying. We could do our homework together. I only need to be back in like an hour. I wouldn't mind accompanying you until then. If you like, I could drop by every day until you're discharged." As she talks, Anna pulls out more books and spreads them open around Castiel's bed, careful to avoid his injuries. Castiel huffs as he watches Anna, amused.

"I would love to, but unfortunately, my books aren't here."

Anna looks up at him, a cunning expression on her face. "What? Did you think I came all the way here to geek out with you without actually bringing you your things?" She smirks, holding up a bag. Castiel blinks. 

"Wow, Anna! I don't know what to say but thank you!" As he makes a grab for his bag, he pulls a sore muscle causing him to hiss in pain. Anna holds up a hand to stop him. "Alright, Romeo. You take it slow. Let me do all the work, okay? Now, lie back," she shushes Castiel, ignoring his protests before proceeding to pull books out of his bag. Instead of passing them to him though, she grabs a pillow from the other bed, lays it on his lap and props his hardcover notebook on top of it. 

Castiel looks up at Anna, feeling touched; an overwhelming rush of gratitude threatens to drown him. He can't help it. Averting his gaze, he looks down at the book in his lap, eyes stinging with tears. Anna's thoughtfulness surprises him, her actions careful and deliberate so as to not cause him more pain. Like his wellbeing is at the forefront of her mind. After months of being treated like an object, the feeling is so alien, Castiel feels slightly off kilter, unsure of what to do with this sudden consideration. He's conflicted. 

His first instinct is to feel unworthy. He knows Anna is being kind but the concept of that attentiveness being directed at him makes him feel uneasy. It feels odd to have someone be nice to him, and he wrings his hands in agitation, feeling his restlessness mounts. Anna rambles on about something or other their English teacher did that day as she continues to pile books on his bed, oblivious to his inner turmoil. He needs to do something. A favor maybe? Something to repay Anna for her kindness. Yes, that's it, he thinks as he finds himself blurting, "Hey, Anna?" 

"Hm?" Anna stops mid-sentence and looks up.

Castiel swallows the lump in his throat and plows on, speaking fast. "When I get better, I promise I will try to take on as many clients as I can. If there's anything I can do for you at all, just let me know. I'll take the bench again if I have to. I know clients are still coming in and with me stuck in the hospital, they're all going to you and the others-" he breaks off, shocked. "They're all going to you and the others," he repeats as if realizing it for the first time. 

"Because of me. Because I was stupid enough to get assaulted. I'm so sorry, Anna. And Tess. Dean. You all don't deserve this and I-" he babbles, tearing freely now, guilt consuming him as the reality of the situation sinks in. He doesn't deserve Anna's kindness at all. Why is Anna even here? She should be hating him right now. 

Anna waves her hands in front of his face, demanding his attention. When he finally look up, he's taken aback by Anna's anger; her face pale and angry, eyes blazing. "Castiel, if you're not already so banged up, I'll shake your stupid self-sacrificing body so hard you see stars," she hisses.

"What the fuck? You think that's what I care about? Castiel, I'm offended. I came here because I wanted to see you!" Castiel opens his mouth to argue, but Anna doesn't let him. "Just because my opinion of you changed after you took my place on the bench doesn't mean that I expect that of you again, Castiel. What you did for me, it shows the kind of person you are, and that is a person I would like to be friends with. I'm treating you like I would treat any friend of mine because I thought we were friends. You're not buying my friendship with sexual favors. I'm insulted if you think that," Anna finishes sadly. 

Castiel thinks he's going to burst into tears, his face feels hot and red. He's fucking this up, isn't he? He finally got himself a friend, and he had to go and fucked it all up because he had been insecure, unwilling to accept the possibility that Anna wanted to be his friend because of him, nothing else. But who can blame him for thinking otherwise when everyone he came into contact with all wanted something from him?

His father wanted his obedience, to be the perfect son. Who would only take time from work to talk to him when he got As for his subjects. Or at a parent-teacher meeting when his teacher would praise him, and his father would beam at him, proud. And Lucifer, who wanted his submission, to be his bargaining chip. Who would only touch him when he's fucking him and only seemed happy when Castiel does what he's told. So who could blame him for thinking Anna would be the same? Except she's not. And he screwed up. 

Tears streams down his face. He knows he must be a pathetic sight, eyes puffy and swollen from crying. His nose and cheeks are flushed red. He has to look away, can't watch the quiet disappointment coloring Anna's features. "I'm sorry," he whispers. Soft fingers tilt his chin up, forcing him to face its owner. Anna is watching him with wide, sad eyes. "We're friend, right?" she asks, voice soft.

Castiel's heart clenches painfully as more tears spill out. He nods, unable to make his voice work. Anna smiles then, "Then stop crying, you baby." She fumbles in her bag again, bringing out a packet of tissue. Anna pulls one out and hands it to Castiel who takes it, staring at her, unable to believe his good fortune. He croaks out a laugh. He must look ridiculous, half-laughing half-crying, but that's exactly how he feels. 

"Oh gawd," he says as he wipes the tears away. "I muz look disgusting rite now. I'm zorry." He blows his nose. Anna laughs, settling back into her chair; book propped up on her thighs. Castiel blows his nose a few more time and throws all the snot-filled tissues into the trash can beside his bed, grimacing. Then, feeling sheepish but much better, he meets Anna's eye. "Would you be so kind as to update me on our lessons today?" he asks. Anna beams, her beautiful face lights up. 

"Of course," she says, all formal and prima as she scoots her chair closer to his bed. He opens the front cover of his notebook and turns the pages until he reaches a blank one. Anna starts to explain what was being covered today and Castiel listens, a smile on his face as he watches the avid expression on his friend's face. He has never been more glad that this fiery hair girl had fumbled and stumbled her way into his life. This girl who appears fragile but is strong despite everything, with an aged look in her eyes that says she'd seen too much but in that moment, she's flawless. 

As they browse through Anna's note together, working on their homework, he feels less alone in the world. Like maybe he finally found a place he belongs. In a group home which is not a group home at all, with a friend who is not your typical high schooler and a boyfriend who wants him to believe in himself. It's not perfect. It's weird, but it's okay. Because no matter how low he'd sunk, he has people around him who cares. People like Dean and Sam. Anna. His new family. It's small, but Castiel couldn't be happier. 

\---

"Dean! _Dean!_ "

Someone is calling his name, and as much as he wants to answer he couldn't lift his head. His body feels weak, his brain foggy, his mouth dry. He coughs; a throaty sound. His throat feels raw, dry and parched. Dean tries to swallow what little saliva he can gather. Not enough. He winces as the barely-there moisture dries halfway down his inflamed windpipe, scraping the inside raw. 

It's painful, and he stops immediately. His head feels heavy, and the person is still screaming his name. He tries moving his fingers. They feel numb so are his toes. He keeps breathing, preparing himself. Then he opens his eyes. It's difficult. His lids feel heavy, and he may or may not be sweating. He could feel beads of sweat trickling down his face, clinging to his eyelashes.

"Dean! Please wake up. Dean!"

His eyes snaps open. He recognizes that voice. His vision is blurry, and he's looking down at his jeans-clad thighs. His t-shirt is clinging to his back; sweat soaked. He blinks and his vision clears. Mostly. He tries to move but finds that he couldn't. His brain is working too slow for him to grasp why. He groans; a small pathetic sound that echoes through the room. Huh.

He flicks his eyes to the side, taking in the black surrounding. It would seem like he's sitting under a spotlight of some sort because two meters away from him on all sides, it's dark. Just pitch black lasting forever. It could be the reason he's sweating so much. Now that he's aware of it, he can feel the scorching beam of the light on his neck. He keeps his breathing steady and flicks his eyes up. 

There's a pair of shoes in front of him. Huh, small feet. A child's feet. He frowns when he notices that said feet are tied to the front two legs of a chair. Why would anyone tie a child up? An itch tickles his throat, and he starts coughing, a harsh continuous stream. It feels like he's trying to hack up a lung. Jesus. He's wheezing by the end of it. He really needs to drink; he's so thirsty. Licking his chapped lips, he tastes blood where it had split. 

He feels terrible. His head is spinning, the lights hurts. His insides feel like they're burning. He gasps, breaths shallow and whistling. Desperation clings to him and he really doesn't want to be alive right now. He can't take this. His body starts to shake, despair settling in. Please... He needs. Someone. Something. Anything. Panting like a crazed man, he forcibly lifts his head enough to stare at the person sitting opposite him. His world stops. Dean must be hallucinating because this can't be. He blinks, trying to get rid of the sweat clinging to his lashes and stares. He's still there. No, _please._

"Sammy?" His voice comes out a broken whisper. 

"Dean!" Sam cries. He's sitting in the chair opposite him, arms tied behind his back. His face is red and tear-stained. Sam had been crying. The sight spurs him into action. Dean jerks in his chair, pulling at the tie-rips binding him. His first instinct is to get to Sam. It doesn't matter that he's dehydrated, that his body feels like it's on fire. He struggles, grunting and puffing as the chair jerks in its place. Blood starts to seep down his wrists where the tie-rips cut into them. 

"Dean, stop! You're hurting yourself." But Dean doesn't care, he keeps trashing. "Dean, please. You're bleeding... I'm scared," Sam says in a small voice, sobs breaking his sentences. It's only then that Dean stops. He stares up helplessly at his little brother, who's crying again. Dammit, Dean. "I'm scared..." Sam sobs.

"Hey, hey!" Dean tries, catching Sam's eyes. "Hey buddy, it's going to be alright, okay? I'm here. I'm not going to let anything happen to you." Sam keeps crying. "Do you trust me, Sammy?" he asks. With tears streaking down Sam's puffy cheeks, he nods, drawing his bottom lip in and gnaws. "Then trust me when I say we're going to be fine. I'll get us out of here, okay buddy?"

He waits for Sam to nod again before he turns his head to look around, taking in his surrounding. If he's not mistaken, they are sitting in a large empty room if the echos are anything to go by. Dean can't see further than where the spotlight is shining, which is right at them. He looks to the ground. It's cement. 

Breathing hard, he asks, "Sammy, how did you get here?"

"We finished school. I- I was walking to the school bus with Amelia. Then, a man came up to us. Asked Amelia if she had seen his dog. He had pictures and everything. Amelia loves dogs, and she was sad that he's missing so she helped him search. I told her not to follow strangers, but she's afraid for the dog. What if he gets run over by a car? So she went with him. I stayed, Dean. Like you told me too. But- but..." Sam's lip trembles even as he tries hard not to cry. 

"Hey, hey. It's okay, buddy. You did good. You listened. Whatever happens, just tell me okay?" He uses his soothing voice, although it lacks the effect he wanted because of how croaky it is, cracking in places. It seems to work though because Sam swallows and put on his big boy face. 

"Someone grabs me from behind. I screamed and kicked at him, but he was so big! He carried me to his van. The windows were so black you can't even see inside. He threw me in and locked the door. There was another man inside. He- he tied me up. It hurts..." Sam closes in on himself, his eyes darting down before they meet Dean's again. "They drive for a while and then the man carried me out to this huge building and then I saw you, Dean! You're already here; all tied up and you're not answering! I thought-" Shakily, he says, "I thought you left me like Mom did."

Dean's heart breaks. "Sammy, I promised I'll never leave you, remember? And do you know me to break my promises?" he asks. Sam shakes his head. "Okay, good. Remember that." He pauses, looking around some more but seeing nothing, he asks, "Can you describe the men for me?" 

Sam's eyes widen. "I'll try. The one who grabbed me was a blonde. He has like brownish eyes. And the other one, inside the car, he's black. And he has this scary eyes. They both huge, Dean. Like really big. The man in the car told me things. But I don't understand. He just kept mentioning your name. And Cas's too!" Sam's eyes widen in terror. "Did he get Cas too?!" 

Dean's heart hammers at the mention of Castiel. There's no way Gordon could have gotten his hands on him. He's at the hospital where it's safe. "Cas's fine, Sammy. He with people who will protect him. He's safe." But then again, he had thought Sam was safe and look what happened. Maybe Gordon did got his hands on Castiel and is now- 

He doesn't want to think about it. It's the panic talking, Dean. Just stay calm and keep your head. What did Dad always taught him? Stay sharp and alert. If you see an opportunity, escape. And do not, for whatever reason, do what the kidnapper says. They'll just kill you after. He glances at Sam. They will realize soon enough that Sam's missing. He just need to stall until help arrives. Okay, he can do this and they'll be o- His heart stops as the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoes in the distance.

"Dean, do you hear that?" Sam whispers, scared.

"Shhhh," he hushes. He pricks his ear, trying to determine where the footsteps are coming from when a bright light streams into the room, blinding him for a second. Someone is standing at the door. The daylight throws his outline in sharp contrast, casting his face in shadows. Whoever it is closes the door and the light vanishes even as the footsteps draws louder, gloomy and foreboding. Dean squints into the darkness and before long, he could see the shadow of a body walking towards them. Gordon steps into the light, smiling.

"Dean! You're up! And I see you've met my present for you," he smiles wider, white teeth shining.

"What do you want?" Dean yells desperate even though it's more of a rasp than an actual shout. 

"I need you to do something for me," Gordon says, shrugging. 

"Fuck you," Dean spits. 

Gordon laughs. A loud, cold sound. "If you don't do this, Dean-o. I think it's fuck Sammy here." Dean's blood runs cold. He glares at Gordon then glances at Sam, who's shaking in his chair but still have his tough face on. He's trying so hard to be brave for Dean. To face down the bad guys with his big brother. Them against the world. Always. Dean feels his resolve breaks. He can't let anything happen to Sam. He's too young. Something like that could leave a permanent scar, and it would be his fault. _I'm sorry, Dad._

Clenching his jaw, he glares up at Gordon. Gordon cocks an eyebrow. "Well?" he asks. 

Unwilling to give up without a fight, he asks, "How the hell did you know about Sam? Who told you?" If he survives this, the bastard is going to pay. He suspects Crowley. He's the only one who knew and the last time he heard the man, he'd been talking to Gordon. But Dean needs to be sure. 

"I don't think you're in any position to make any demands, Dean-o. But I'm feeling charitable today. So I will tell you. His name is Hellhound."

"What the hell kind of name is that? And don't lie to me, Gordon. You can just tell me it's Crowley. That son of a bitch doesn't care about loyalty."

"If it's Crowley I would say it's Crowley. But it's not. I have no incentive to lie to you," Gordon lifts his shoulders up. Dean glares at him, mind whirring. Who the hell is Hellhound? And how does he know about Sam? Or Dean for that matter? Who else knows about them? What the hell is going on? "If it helps, I'm quite sure Hellhound isn't his real name. But that's what he goes by in the business. It's not my fault that you don't know him," he adds. "Now, back to business. Are you in or are you out, Dean-o? And believe me, there's a right answer." Dean stubbornly remains silent, but he averts his eyes. 

"I thought so," Gordon sneers, triumphed.


	19. Chapter 19

The sun is streaming in, falling on the tiny dust speckles in the room. Castiel lies in bed with his head turned towards the window, squinting against the sunlight as he appreciates the endless clear blue sky. Last night's storm had paved way to a bright and sunny day. A flock of birds fly into his field of vision, zigzagging their way through the sky. He smiles. With only the soft beeps of his heart monitor to accompany him in the relative quiet of the room, Castiel feels peaceful like he hadn't been for a while now. 

He glances back at the book in his lap. Anna had just left, promising to return tomorrow so that they could geek out again. They had a lot of fun despite his early fumble. Anna had teased him mercilessly about Dean, making him feel flustered and very much like a steamtrain, about ready to burst with embarrassment. When he's red as a tomato, she took his hands and told him how happy she was for him. That he deserved to have someone who treats him well. After that, things had gotten emotional again, and they ended up laughing about it as they wiped their eyes. 

The knock on the door pulls him out of his reverie. He looks up to see a nurse walking into the room, a clipboard in hand. She gives Castiel a warm smile, her long black hair tied back into a neat ponytail, her blue-gray eyes friendly. "How are you feeling, Castiel?" she asks, standing beside him by his bed. She leaves the clipboard on the table, checks his stats and feels his forehead. 

"I'm feeling better, Nurse Haniel," he answers. 

Haniel laughs, voice cheery and light. "Please, call me Hannah. Haniel is something only my parents call me. And don't bother with the 'nurse' thing. Just Hannah is fine." She checks his arms where the IV drip is sticking out from vein. She tuts, frowning a little. "You seem a little bruised here," she says. Castiel looks down at his hands. The skin around the needle is indeed purplish. 

"Maybe I could see if we can take you off the drip. Are you drinking well?" He nods. "Do you think you can stomach solids?" Castiel hesitates, then shrugs. "Well, we can always start you up with jellos first, see how that takes. If all goes well, we'll get you off the drip. Sounds good?" 

Castiel nods. "Yes, thank you, Nur- Hannah," he corrects himself. "Jellos sound nice." Since he had woken up, the only thing he'd been consuming is water. And though it soothes his throat, he's craving for flavor and jellos sounds perfect. Sweet, cold and soft. Castiel's mouth watered just thinking about it. Hannah smiles, ticking something on her clipboard. 

"Well, your temperature had returned to normal, and that's good. You're were burning up right after the surgery which is not unusual but if it stayed then we would have a problem. There might have been an infection, but that is not the case..." She mumbles the last sentence, talking more to herself than Castiel as she scribbles on the clipboard. "Do you feel dizzy or nauseated?" she asks, indicating his head. 

Castiel thinks for a moment, then nods. "Sometimes. When I move too fast or too sudden." 

"That's common. You need to drink more water to stay hydrated and rest more. You were pretty banged up. We almost lost you in there." Castiel's eyes widen. He didn't know that. Hannah steps closer, one hand coming up to squeezes Castiel's shoulder. "But you made it. You're one tough cookie." 

Castiel manages a weak smile. He still couldn't believe he had almost died. He had wanted to when he was lying on the restroom floor. He just wanted the pain to end, and he saw no reason for him to live. No one is going to miss him or mourn him. But lying here, he realizes how wrong he had been. He has so much to live for, and he can't help but feel grateful to be alive. 

"Thank you for saving me," he says earnestly.

"Honey, it's our job. And to be honest, you can thank Dr. Benton for that. He's the one who operated on you, and you couldn't ask for a more determined and single-minded doctor. He operated on you for 6 hours straight, without rest," she praises, admiration clear on her face. "He'll drop by later to give you a checkup. And he'll let you know what you should or should not do once you get home."

Castiel nods. "Do you know when?" The thought of going back to the home leaves Castiel with mixed feeling. He likes it here. It's peaceful and quiet. He doesn't feel tensed or nervous or scared, unsure of what is expected of him next. Also, he doesn't think his body is ready for what's waiting for him when he gets back. Gordon had tore into him, ripping him open. Even now, sitting on the soft bed, he can feel the slight tingle and soreness. 

"Well, if all goes well with the checkup and Dr. Benton approves, you're free to go tomorrow night. We'll call the home then and have someone come and pick you up."

Castiel sags into the pillow he had been leaning against. Tomorrow night. He hadn't expected to go home so soon. Dread as heavy as lead settles in his bones. He doesn't think Lucifer will be cruel enough to pimp him out right away. But maybe he'll send him off to Chastity. They do have an outstanding appointment. His stomach churns uncomfortably. 

Chastity is a sadistic dominatrix. Just thinking of her sends shudders up his spine. She never lacks creativity on what to do with him. Often, she will tie him up and beat him senseless with a crop. Sometimes, she would pour hot wax down his chest or drip it onto his penis and balls. When she's in the mood, she would prepare ice cubes and uses them on his nipples, watch as they harden and turn blue from the cold. She also loves shoving them into his ass, one after the other and watch them melt, water leaking down his thighs.

But her utmost favorite thing to do is orgasm denial. And she's good at it. She would play with his prostate, stimulate his penis and nipples until he's hard and needy, helpless against her ministration. Then, she would mock him, call him a slut for wanting it. And when he can't take it anymore, the need to come too much to handle, half out of his mind with desperation, he would beg, cry but she always ignore his pleas. Instead, she'll put a cock ring on him and continues to edge him further, watch as he squirms and pants as she waits. It doesn't take long after that for him to break, tears and sweat drying of his body as she milks the semen out of him. 

His penis, after being hard for so long feels relief but it's a double edged knife. After every session, he's left trembling, wrung out and feeling more used than he'd ever been. Rode hard and put up wet. He'll be too disoriented to fully process what happened right away, but each night when he falls into bed, the humiliation would come, forcing him to relive the things he let done to him, the way he broke down and begged. And for what? To orgasm? The next few days are be the worst. He feels off, not like himself. Chastity's sessions messes with his head, his hormones. He hates it. He hates Chastity. He really hopes Lucifer wouldn't send him there.

"How are your ribs feeling?" Hannah asks oblivious of his turmoils.

"Sore."

"They're going to be sore for a while. Nothing you can do with bruised ribs except to wait it out and let them heal by themselves. We can provide pain medication for that," she says, scribbling on the clipboard. "You also have a fractured hip so movement might be limited. We could provide you with crutches to take home with you. Just in case you need them." 

Castiel touches his left hip, feeling the soreness there but it doesn't seem too bad. He hadn't try to walk yet though so it might be possible that he may need help moving about. He's going to have to test that theory soon. His bladder has been nudging at him for awhile now, persistant. "I'm not sure," he answer honestly. 

"No worries, we'll decide later when you out and about," Hannah says, smiling before looking back to her clipboard. Her expression sobers. She looks up at him; her eyes sad as she says in a quiet voice. "I'm sorry for what happened to you, Castiel. No one deserves that." 

Their easy conversation screeches to a halt. All a sudden the air in the room feels thicker, more hard to breath. Hannah knows. Of course she knows, assbutt. She's a nurse. She treated you. Even without the police reports, his injuries is very telling. Castiel swallows. He doesn't want to be reminded of the assault. He doesn't want to talk about it. He just wants to put it behind him and forget that it ever happened. Why is Hannah bringing this up? Can't she sees that it's making him uncomfortable?

"Because it's a rape case, we have to check for sexually transmitted diseases," Hannah continues. Oh. A dead weight settles in his chest. Ohgod, he knows he's dirty, but now he might even be diseases ridden. Castiel wants to puke, his chest tightening painfully. It would be just his luck to catch a STD now that something good finally happened to him. A soothing hand rests on his shoulder, steadying him. He didn't realize that he's shaking. "You're clean, Castiel."

Castiel turns wide, disbelieving eyes at Hannah. "Really?" he whispers. Hannah nods and smiles. Relief like he never felt before washes through him. He huffs out a breath, his eyes watery with unshed tears and smiles. "I'm clean?" Then, " _I'm clean!_ " he exclaims, hardly believing the words coming out of his mouth.

Lucifer was adamant that his clients use condoms whenever he tricks. And Castiel sticks to it. But when it comes to Azazel and his friends, he doesn't have a say. And more often than not they don't use condoms. He knows he's risking his life with every unprotected fuck, but he never thought too hard about it. Not when his daily life revolves around lying on his back and taking it. It's not like there's a choice. So he let that titbit slips. 

But now that he's faced with the very real possibility of contracting something, suddenly the threats become real. Very real. For a moment, before Hannah told him he was clean, he thought that this is it. This is his life. He's going to die a disease ridden whore, and that'll be his legacy. That's who he'll ever be. There's no turning back. It's done.

Someone up there must be looking out for him because for some reason he dodges the bullet, free of any diseases and the thought that he might be able to start anew, start fresh, leaves Castiel speechless. He's clean! He can still walk away from this a person, who has dreams and hopes and aspirations. He could _live_. It is at that moment that he knows without a doubt that he cannot return to the home. To Lucifer. He cannot return to being a whore anymore. He can't. 

Someone knocks on the door. Castiel's eyes fly towards it. Hannah turns to look at the newcomer just as Castiel beams when he sees who it is. "Dean!" he greets, his heart overflowing with warmth at the sight of the green eyed man. Hannah turns back to Castiel and smiles knowingly. 

"Lisa was right. He's adorable," she teases. Castiel blushes. "I'll leave you two alone then." She turns to leave and just as she's exiting the room, turns back to say in a mock stern voice, "No fooling around okay, boys? Castiel still needs to heal." Both Dean and Castiel turns a deep shade of red. Laughing softly to herself, Hannah leaves, closing the door behind her. 

Dean is standing near the door, his hands stuffed deep into the pocket of his jeans. He has his backpack with him, hanging off his shoulder to one side. Castiel notices it right away. Something is different about Dean. The way he holds himself, tensed and stilted. And then there's the fact that his t-shirt is soaked through. Is it so hot outside?

Then, he takes in Dean's complexion. He looks pale, a little green around the edge and his normally well-spiked hair is a mess; dirty blonde locks falling over his forehead. He looks on edge too, shifty, his eyes trained on the floor in front of him. Concerned, he asks "Dean? Are you okay? You look... off." 

Dean snaps his eyes up at Castiel, looking like a deer caught in headlights before he replaces it with a bad imitation of his crinkly eyed smile. It looks forced. Castiel is confused as he frowns at Dean, trying to understand his odd behavior. The smile lingers for a second longer before it diminished completely. Dean's whole body crumbles in on itself, and he looks about to collapse.

"Dean!" He sits up in his bed in alarm. He pushes the blanket off and is about to leave the bed when two shaking hands settle on his shoulders, pushing him back into the bed. Castiel stares in horror at Dean's wrists. They're both bloodied, the skin scrapped raw. He grabs at Dean's arm, just below his wrists and stares at the wounds disbelievingly. "Dean- what happened?" Dean snatches his hands back and stuffs them into his pocket again. He shrugs. "Nothing." His voice sounds strained and tired. 

"Nothing? Dean, that's not nothing. What the hell happened? Tell me," he demands, surprising both Dean and himself at the commanding tone of his voice. He had never once raised his voice before, and his outburst surprises him. They both blink at one another, stunned silent. Then is a much gentler tone, Castiel asks again "Dean, please. Tell me what happened. Did Lucifer did this to you?" 

Fear and guilt claw their way into his guts. Did Dean get into trouble because he came to see him last night? Dean had even stayed the night. Lucifer must have found out and punished Dean for it. This is his fault. Because of him, Dean had gotten hurt. But that can't be it. Lucifer was calm this morning. He hadn't shown any signs of knowing that Dean was here, or that anything was amiss.

Dean shakes his head, hesitates then nods. He seems conflicted, still not looking at Castiel. "Is that a yes or a no, Dean?" Dean stills for a moment before he ends up shrugging, sliding his backpack off his shoulder and settles it on the floor in front of him. He doesn't look back up, eyes fixed on his backpack. Frustrated, Castiel tilts Dean's head up with his fingers so that they're eyes to eyes. "Dean?"

Dean stares at him. The usual shine in his eyes are gone. They're wide and terrified. The skin around them are hallowed, eyebags visible underneath his eyes. Something about them screams desperation and Castiel is growing more and more alarmed by the minute. Something is seriously wrong. Before he could asks further, Dean breaks. He crumples into the chair beside him, his face twists into despair right before his eyes. Tears start to pool in those emerald green orbs and before long Dean's crying. Shocked, Castiel cups Dean's face in his hands, wiping the tears there. Dean leans into the touch, his hands coming up to close over Castiel's. 

"I'm sorry, Cas..." he sobs. "I'm so sorry..."

Confused, he asks, "What are you sorry for, Dean?" His heartbeats quicken. He's frightened. Of what, he doesn't know yet. "I'm sorry..." Dean continues to babbles.

Alarmed, confused and scared, he pulls Dean's head to his chest, smoothing a hand over his hair, petting Dean soothingly. "It's okay, Dean. Whatever it is, you can tell me. _Please..._ ," he adds, desperate. Dean continues to sob, rubbing his face into the front of his hospital gown, drenching it with tears. "Dean, please... I can't stand seeing you like this. Please... Just tell me," he begs. His heart aches upon seeing Dean like this. Dean is the strong one. He lashes out in anger when he's upset. He doesn't break down and cry. 

The only time he saw Dean cried was last night. But that was different. Dean cried for him. Because he was hurt. Fear prickles at him as he thought about it, his heart stopping. No, it can't be, can it? In a hoarse whisper, he asks, "Is it Sam?" Dean sobs even harder confirming his theory. God, no. Not Sam. Dean loves Sam more than anything in the world and if something were to happen to him... Castiel can feel his own tears pricking his eyes. "What happened?" he forces himself to ask. Dean doesn't answers at first, then- 

"They took him." Dean has finally stopped crying, looking up at Castiel with a bleak expression on his face. 

"Who?"

"Gordon." 

Castiel freezes. There's a buzzing noise in his ears. The room fades into the background. Every sound dims. The beeping, the murmurs outside. Everything except the roar in his ears. "Gordon?" he croaks. Dean nods. Fear strikes him hard and fast. "Wha-? Why? How? Oh my god, is Sam okay? Did they-?" He couldn't finish the sentence. The thought of Sam at the mercy of Gordon and his men chills him to his bones. Sam is only 6 years old! Castiel breaks out into a cold sweat. "Dean! They can't-" He gasps, sucking in breath but he can't seem to get enough into his lungs. 

"Breathe, Castiel. Sammy is okay. They haven't done anything to him. Yet." Dean looks away. 

"Yet?"

"Yet."

"What does that means?"

Dean looks up at him and smiles. A haunted smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "It means that they wouldn't hurt Sammy as long as I do what they ask."

Castiel stares at him. "And what did they ask, Dean?" 

They stare at one another. Castiel dreads the answer. For some reason, without having to hear Dean's answer, he knows. It's the reason Dean is here at the hospital in the first place, talking to Castiel.

"You," Dean says tonelessly. 

Prepared as he was for his answer, Castiel can't help but feel sucker punched. He stares at the person who said that he loves him, the person he thought is nothing like Lucifer, but turns out to be the same. They all want something from him. Dean came to the hospital to bring him to Gordon. The man who had raped and beaten him almost to death. Castiel still wore the scars and marks of what the man did to him on his skin for all to see. For Dean to see. And yet, here he is. Castiel's heart feels like it had been dug out of his chest, stomp and trampled on before it is shoved back in, bruised and bleeding.

He knows there is nothing Dean loves more in the world than Sam. If what he'd told Castiel last night was any indication. Dean would do anything, _anything_ for Sam. He knows. But it still hurts. Because Dean had said he loves him too. But he guesses, it's not enough. Castiel is never enough. Resigned, he asks, "You're here to take me to them, aren't you?"

Dean's face twists. He looks conflicted, chewing the inside of his cheek, his eyes brimming with tears. "I was. But I can't do it." Castiel looks up at that. Dean is shaking his head, tears falling down his cheek. "I mean, look at you, Cas. You've been through enough. What kind of monster would that make me if I sent you back to the person who did that." Dean gestures wildly at Castiel "I can't... I can't see you hurt again. I just-" Dean looks away, a sort of helplessness settles over his face as he runs his hands through his hair, wiping them down over his tired face. "I don't know what to do, Cas. Tell me what to do."

Castiel is silent. Then, he takes both of Dean's hand into his, blue eyes staring into Dean's dull green ones. He feels a profound sadness at the hopelessness in Dean's eyes. "Dean, you saved me. If it's not for you, I'll probably be dead. You saved my life, Dean. In more ways than one. I'll come with you." Castiel is scared but he has never been more sure in his life. He wants to do this for Dean. And not just Dean, but Sam who is innocent in all this. "It's my fault Sam got taken anyway. Gordon wants me," he says. "I'm sorry for getting you mixed up in this mess. It was never my intention, Dean. I'm so sorry." 

"No!" Dean says fiercely. "No, it's not your fault. If any, it's my fault!" Castiel tilts his head in confusion. "Gordon is crazy."

"Tell me about it."

"I mean like he's really psycho! Crowley told him about Lucifer. About how he's out for his blood. And Gordon, he- He's not afraid at all like he was pumped by the idea or something. There's this glow in his eyes and the way he's going, I think he's going to kill Lucifer. On top of that, I saw fucking drugs, loads of them. I can't believe I almost became a drug mule. Fuck! You've seen his eyes right? Gordon? He's high as a fucking kite. And he took Sammy, Cas! That fucker got Sammy and I-"

"Stop, Dean. You have to calm down." Dean stops abruptly. Castiel tilts his head, frowning hard as he tries to catch up with what Dean's saying. Finally, he ends up saying, "What?" All he could get from Dean's outburst was Gordon. Lucifer. Kill. And Crowley? Drugs? Fear creeps into his heart. "Wait. Gordon wants to kill Lucifer?" His heart races. Even though Lucifer had manipulated his feelings, abuses him, Castiel never wanted him dead. Or any harm to come to him for that matter. "Why? How? And what does this all have to do with me?"

Dean averts his gaze. "That might have been my fault. See, he didn't asked for you at first. He just wanted to know everything about Lucifer. So I told him. I told him about the home, what he did and then he asked about you. Something about what I said must have made him think that you're important. Important enough that Lucifer will come and get you if you're in trouble."

"He wants _me_ to lure Lucifer?" Castiel asks in disbelief. "That's- What? Lucifer doesn't care about me. I'm just his toy. Something he'll play with when he's bored. He wouldn't come and get me if it means risking his own life." Castiel is perplexed. This is nonsense. 

"I told him that! But Gordon was adamant. He really believes Lucifer will come and save you or some shit. Fuck. We're so screwed." Dean buries his face in his palms and lets out a muffled scream. Castiel understands his frustration. The whole situation is absurd and in every scenario, their chance of survival are minimal at best. Dean looks up at Castiel. "I'm sorry I got you into this mess."

"Don't apologise, Dean. This all started with me." Dean looks like he's about to protest but Castiel cuts him off. "Why don't you start at the beginning? How is Crowley involved? And more importantly, how did Gordon know about Sam?"

So Dean starts explaining. He tells Castiel all about his meeting with Crowley, the exchange and how it turned out to be Gordon he's meeting. Castiel's heart quickens as Dean describes how he had fought the man but was overpowered. When Dean reaches the part about Sam, his voice falters and Castiel reaches a hand out to console him. His grief soon turns to anger as he storms about a person name Hellhound. The name is unfamiliar to Castiel too and they're both stumped as who this person might be. When he's done, Dean slumps back in his chair, exhausted. It's a lot to take in but the part about Crowley isn't surprising. He always thought the man is a creep.

"I saw the video, Cas," Dean says suddenly, voice barely above a whisper.

Confused, he frowns. "What video?"

"Gordon had videos of the assault." Castiel freezes as he remembers the flashing light, the mobile phones in his face. He sucks in a breath, body stiff. "It was horrible," Dean rasps out. "I can't believe I actually came here to take you back to them. These bastards raped you! What's wrong with me?" Dean pushes out of his chair, sending it screeching across the floor. He walks toward the end of the bed, his back facing Castiel, head in hands. 

"Dean," he starts.

"No, Cas. You don't know." Dean shakes his head. "I came in here with the intention to trick you. I devised a whole ploy in my head on the way over. I even brought regular clothes with me," he yells as he gestures at the backpack on the floor. "I'm an asshole, and you shouldn't have to deal with this. I'll figure another way out to save Sam." Dean takes a step forward and reaches for the backpack. 

Castiel grabs hold of his arms. "There's no other way, and you know it. If you go back to them without me, you'll know they'll do what they promised they would."

Dean starts to shake, still not looking at Castiel. "You don't get it, do you Cas?" He fixes Castiel with furious green eyes. "I would have fooled you and sent you back to Gordon so they can use you against Lucifer. Someone you loved! And who knows what they're going to do to you while they're at it huh? Maybe they'll rape you again. Maybe this time, they'll kill you. And that's what will happen because you trust me. You idiot son of a bitch, you trusts me." He breaks down then. "You fucking trust me."

"Yes, Dean. I trust you," Castiel says calmly. Dean stares at him with wild eyes. "You could do all that. But you didn't. You told me the truth. And that is why I trust you."

"Cas..."

"And I want to help."

"But how is it fair of me to ask that of you? It's not. You shouldn't have to deal with my problems."

"You said you love me last night. Do you mean that?"

"Of course."

"Well, I love you too. And I mean that. Your problems are my problems. I can't stand seeing you like this, Dean. And if I can help, I will." Before Dean can interrupt again, he adds. "Sam is a great kid. And I care about him too. I don't want to see him in danger anymore than you do, Dean. So please, let me help."

"But Cas, it's too much. I can't accept this."

"You can and you will. You don't have a choice in this. I'm coming."

"You know, there's a high chance they won't be letting anyone of us go, right? So you'll just be sacrificing yourself for nothing."

"I know. And I won't be doing this for nothing. I'll be doing it for the slim chance it might help. Because I'm not going to sit by and watch the people I love die. Or worse. Now, help me up, Dean or so help me God."

Dean bites the inside of his cheek, his face red as he tries to stop the tears from falling. "How are you real?"

"Pinch me, and I'll hurt. I don't know how I'm real except that apparently my parents decided to have unprotected sex whereby my mom got inseminated with my dad's sperm-"

"Oh god, Cas stop!" Dean says closing his hands over his ears. "Jesus!" Then, he laughs a soft rumble but a laugh nonetheless. "You're impossible," he says shaking his head fondly. 

Castiel smiles. "You like it." 

"Yeah. Yeah, I do." 

They stare at each other for a moment before Castiel sobers. "Alright. How are we getting out again?"

Dean hesitates for a moment but at Castiel's stern glare, he fumbles around with his backpack and pulls out a pair of jeans and a bright yellow shirt. The shirt has a bee on the front with a talk bubble that reads, 'I'm your buzz-friend!'. Castiel raises an eyebrow at it. "Classy."

Dean blushes. "It's not like there's a lot of choices at Walmart," he mumbles. 

"So, am I your buzz-friend?" Castiel asks once he unties the hospital gown and tosses it aside. He takes the shirt from Dean who's studiously looking anywhere but him, his face a dark shade of red. He pulls the shirt over his head.

"Not if I can help it," Dean mumbles. 

"What's that? I couldn't hear you." He smirks up at Dean, making grabby hands for the jeans. Dean tosses them at him, the item hitting him squarely in the face, laughing at the startled sound he made. Castiel scowls but soon joins in, his low rumble adding to Dean's higher note. Putting on the jeans is hard work considering how limited his movement is. Castiel hisses as he pulls on a sore muscle. Dean is on him right away, his hands gentle as he helps Castiel into his jeans. He lifts his hips as Dean pulls the jeans up, blushing the entire time as he tries not to look at his junk.

"You're my boyfriend, not my buzz-friend," he mutters again as he helps Castiel buttons up his jeans. "I thought we established that last night," he pouts. Castiel smiles. Dean is adorable. 

"Yes, dear. We did." He lifts a hand up and cups Dean's cheek. "Can you give your boyfriend a kiss now?" Dean rolls his eyes in a way that Castiel know is fond and leans down. Their lips brush before they deepen the kiss, Castiel coaxing a moan out of Dean. 

When they part, he takes a deep breath. "Alright, time to test if my legs will support me." Dean helps him shuffles to the edge of the bed. At the count of three, Castiel pushes off and lands on his feet. He stumbles a little, legs weak from not having moved for hours. Dean's grip is steady on his arm. "Are you ok?" he asks. Castiel nods. Straightening up, he takes a step. Then, another. He lets out a sigh of relief. "Well, at least it seems like I can walk," he says. 

As they slowly approach the door, Castiel stops. He turns to Dean. "Maybe we should leave a note. Just in case. If I go missing, the hospital is going to call Lucifer. We can warn him. Tell him what happened. At least then, he can plan ahead." He pauses for a bit before continuing, "He might or might not come, Dean. I can't promise he cares for me enough to."

"If he wants to establish his dominance, he might. Gordon basically throws him an open challenge. If he doesn't respond, it would make him seems like he's scared. He will lose respect fast and people won't be afraid of him anymore. I'm not an expert but that can't be good for business."

He nods, can't help but agrees with Dean. The Lucifer he knows doesn't run, he fights. He's dangerous and he's cunning. There's still a chance they might come out of this alive. He watches as Dean slips a note underneath his pillow. He returns to Castiel's side and slips his arm around him, steadying him as they head out the door.

If Castiel is going to be dramatic about it, it feels a little like they're heading to their doom. He casts one last look at the room behind him. Safety. Is he doing the right thing? Leaving with Dean? As he steps outside into the corridor, his heart beats up a storm. He's really doing this. He must be insane. But then he turns his head to the side and sees Dean's face. Dean looks up at him and gives him a small smile. The corner of his lips curls up. He thinks, as they hobble to the elevator, that although it might seem like a suicide mission, it's okay. 


	20. Chapter 20

Dean keeps his head down as he helps Castiel limps towards the exits. He sneaks a few glances every now and then, his heart jumping into his throat every time he thinks he glimpses a familiar face. He's having mixed feeling about this. One part of him hopes that someone's going to stop him while the other heaves a sigh of relief everytime a nurse or doctor looks away. Every step closer to the entrance is like a stab to the gut. With each step, his mind is screaming. Coward. Traitor. You're just like Lucifer. 

It's so easy to give up the charade. All Dean has to do is attract attention to Castiel and himself and the jig is up. Castiel would be whisked away to safety, and there's nothing he can do about it. But as much as he would like to grab the passing nurse, demanding her to see them, to see what he's doing, he doesn't. The thoughts of Sam keep him going, keep his feet moving. He's a coward. Simple as that. He doesn't have the strength to do the right thing. 

In what seems like no time at all, they have reached the entrance and are slipping out the rotating doors. Last chance, Dean. Do the right thing. It's now or never. But he stays silent as he helps Castiel outisde. The sun beats down on their neck. Dean tightens his grip as Castiel moves to step forward. He stops moving, closing his eyes. He can't do this. He can't let Castiel do this. Trembling on the spot, he feels Castiel stills beside him. He doesn't dare to look up. 

"Dean? It's okay. We're doing this together." Castiel closes a hand around his grip on his arms. He feels warm and solid. A comforting touch. For some reasons, that just make him feel more awful. Tears leak out onto his cheek. A smooth thumb rubs over the tears, cupping his face. Dean opens his eyes. Piercing blue the color of the sky stare back at him. "It's going to be okay."

Dean wishes he could believe him. He wishes for that to be true. But he knows better. He had seen what Gordon and his men had done to Castiel, and he's not naive enough to think they might get away unscathed. If he's going to be doomed, why drag Castiel into this? For Sam, a voice at the back of his head reminds him. His shoulders slumps and the hopelessness is back. He'll do whatever it takes to save Sam but why does it have to be like this? Why does he have to choose? Dean doesn't want to choose. 

"It's not fair," he croaks after being silent for awhile. "Why does it have to be you or Sam? Why can't it just be me? If it were just me, I'll do in a beat."

"Dean, please. I've told you before, and I'm telling you again. Why don't you understand that I don't want to see you hurt too? I care about you," Castiel implores, rubbing a thumb against Dean's freckled cheek. "I used to do things people asked of me because I wanted their approval. Their love. But I see now that it's not like that. When people love you, they don't ask things of you. Instead, you do things for them because you want to. And Dean, trust me when I say, this is something I want to do. Not for you. Not for Sam. But for me. Because I love you and I care what happens to you. Do you understand?"

Dean stares up into those earnest blue eyes, so serious and intense, staring deep into his very soul. This 17 years old who had been hurt in so many ways but rises above it all to be this kind and sincere person. There's an underlying ferocity simmering beneath his fragile surface and for a moment, it's like Dean's staring into the face on an angel. Not the cherubs, baby in diapers kind or those gentle saintly ones in the church but the wrathful warrior of Gods depicted in books. The one holding swords and spears with their wings flare out behind them. There's a righteous fury blazing in Castiel's eyes, but there's also something gentle there. A conviction. An unconditional love. 

Dean wraps a hand at the back of Castiel's neck and pulls him into a kiss. Their teeth clacks and they kiss with the desperation of married men going to war, saying farewell to their family. But for them at least, instead of parting, they're going to war together. And maybe, just maybe they'll be able to survive this if they stick together, have each others back and take strength from one another. It may just be enough to keep their hopes up and the candle lit. The metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel.

"I understand," he whispers into Castiel's mouth, feeling the other teen's lips curls into a smile. 

The van they had used to drive to the hospital is as Sam described. White with black tinted windows. It's a pretty nondescript van. Normal. Invisible. The trip to the car park was short. The van looms in the distance, looking more and more forboding as they approach. Dean tenses, his heart thumping like a jackrabbit. Despite Castiel's reassurance before, Dean can't help but try one more time. "Cas-"

Castiel must have sensed his apprehension because he stops and interrupts him before Dean can finish his sentence. "Dean, if Gordon wants me, there's nothing that will stop him from getting his hands on me. At least I don't think so. The reason he wants you to do this is to mess with your head. He's a sick man, Dean. Don't let him get to you. At least now we're going into this with our eyes wide open."

When he doesn't reply, Castiel continues in a soft voice. "I'm not going to pretend that I'm not scared. Because I am. It's taking all of my will power just to keep walking." Dean looks up at Castiel. His eyes are zeroed in on the white van in the distance, and Dean can see the fear in them, bright as day. "I don't know what he has got planned for me or what he's going to do to me. But I'm trying my best not to think too hard about it. Because if I do, I'm afraid I'll lose my nerve," Castiel's voice breaks and Dean tightens his grip on Castiel. 

"Cas..."

"Don't try to talk me out of this, Dean. I'm already struggling as it is. So let just please do this?" Castiel takes a step forward, but Dean moves in front of him, blocking his path. He places his hands on Castiel's shoulders right where they meet his neck and stares at him right in the eyes.

"Cas, you don't have to do this. It's not too late. We can turn around. You can call the cops. Tell them what happened. I'm sure they can help. I mean, it's their job, right?" His voice shakes as he says that. They can do that, but he knows Gordon left two men with Sam. And if they don't hear back from Gordon as planned, they're going to sell Sam to a pedophile ring. Gordon had said that Sam'll be lost within hours and that the system will eat him up and chew him alive, he'll wish he's dead. And Dean can forget about ever seeing him again. The blood drains from his face as cold sweat drenches his body. 

"You're not coming with me, are you?"

Dean averts his eyes, his jaws clenching. If that's what Castiel chooses to do, Dean will let him. But he's going back. He's not going to leave Sam. Gordon can sell the both of them for all he cares. Dean doesn't give a shit anymore. Castiel shrugs out of his grip. Dean's heart sinks as he stares up at his face. Castiel isn't looking at him. Dean takes a step back. Good. This is what he wanted, isn't it? He finally made Castiel sees sense. So why does his heart feels like it's about to die? 

Dean half expects Castiel to turn around and storms off but he didn't. Instead, he brushes past Dean, one hand holding his side as he limps towards the white van. Dean watches him go in shock. There's an undeterred look of determination on his face. Dean is struck again by how much Castiel looks like an avenging angel right now. With broken wings but still so damn powerful. Tears prick his eyes and before he knows it, Dean rushes forward and wraps an arm around Castiel again, helping him walk. They don't speak the rest of the way.

When they're a few feet away from the van, the door slides open, and two men jump out. Dean hasn't seen them before but something about them feels familiar. The only people he'd seen so far is Gordon and for a brief second the two men that came in to guard Sam while Gordon dragged him to the van. One of them has slicky black hair, tied into a ponytail. He looks like a rockstar wannabe. The other is more thug-like with a well-toned body and tattoo sleeves covering up both arms. Tattoo guy heads straight for Castiel. 

"Miss me sweetheart?" he coos, his horselike face breaking into an ugly sneer. He twists Castiel's arm behind his back and leans down close beside his ear. With a jolt, Dean realizes where he'd seen these men before. They were the same men in the video. Dean's vision streaks red. He moves to grab the man's shoulder, ready to turn him around and break his jaw when someone grabs him from behind. Oblivious, Tattoo guy continues to manhandle Castiel, sniffing his hair before biting down hard on the bandage covering one side of his neck. Castiel whimpers. 

"Get your fucking hands off him!" Dean shouts, struggling against Ponytail's grip. He stomps on the man's foot, hears him yowls and in his weakened state, Dean turns around and lands a vicious right hook across his jaw. Ponytail collapses to the ground. Dean pounces on Tattoo guy, holding him in a chokehold. He lets go of Castiel, trying to fend Dean off, fingernails biting into his arms but it's futile. Dean knows what he's doing. In less than a second, he's out cold. Dean drops him to the ground when he hears Ponytail approaches him from behind. He dodges out of the way and turns around just enough to land a swift kick right where his knee joins his lower leg. The man yowls in agony and crumbles to the asphalt. Dean's about to stomp on his leg again to finish the job when a hand lands on his chest, stopping him. 

"No, Dean! Stop!" Dean looks up. Castiel is pale and shaking, his terrified eyes staring at something behind him. Dean glances back. Gordon is standing a foot from him, gun out and cocked. He pokes the nuzzle into Dean's side. 

"Hold your horses there, Rambo," Gordon breathes in his ear. Dean raises his hands, panting slightly. "Get the fuck up, Leo. And get in the van. Grab Spike with you too, will you?" Gordon hisses. 

Ponytail, or Leo moans as he stands, favoring his right leg. He pulls Spike up by the arm and ungraciously slings it around his neck, supporting the full weight of the man. He hobbles past Dean, pausing to growls, "This is not over," before shoving Spike into the passenger seat. The muzzle of the gun presses painfully at his side as Gordon nudges him towards the van. Once Dean is inside, Castiel stumbles in, hissing as he falls onto his side. Dean helps him into a sitting position as Gordon climbs in, gun still trained at them. 

The door slides shut, and the lock clicks. There's no seats inside, just an empty space covered with a patch of carpeting. Gordon shuffles all the way to the back of the van, into the shadows. Unwilling to give Gordon any more ammunition against them, he reluctantly let Castiel go. They sit side by side, cross-legged, their knees brushing. 

The inside of the van is dark. Whatever sunlight that manages to stream through the tinted window are weak. Plus, there aren't many windows at the back to begin with. Just enough to see the dark shape that is Gordon at the back if they squint. The van roars to life and starts moving, lurching them forward a little. Castiel's breath hitches. Dean glances to his side. Castiel has his head bowed, eyes closed and face screwed up in pain, his body locked. Dean brushes a finger over his knee. Castiel looks up, face pale but nods slightly. 

As the van moves, so does the sunbeam from the window, dancing around in the interior of the van. Dean keeps his eyes trained at Gordon, or his shadow. The man hasn't spoken a word since the van started moving. They turn a corner, and the beam that was shining on them slides all the way to the back. Gordon smiles, sitting nonchalantly with his arms on his knees, the gun hanging from his hand in between his spead legs. The smiles grows wider and wider until a soft laugh escapes the man. A sounds that seems to come out the nose rather than the mouth. He looks amused, white teeth gleaming. 

"You look good, angel," Gordon drawls. "Or should I say, Castiel?" He glances over at Dean, giving him a please look. "Good work, Dean. Thank you. Though that little stunt you pulled back there? Not smart. You won't like them when they're mad. Actually, scratch that. They're just animals, the bunch of them. Just ask your friend over there. Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot you already watched his porn debut."

"You can fuck the hell off," Dean snarls. 

"You've got balls, I give you that. But when we break you, and we will- we'll wipe that cocky attitude of yours for good," Gordon growls. Castiel tensed up beside him, hands forming into fists. Sensing his anger, Dean is quick to change track. 

"Where's Sam? You promised that if I do this, you'll let Sam go. See to it that you keep your end of the deal."

Gordon's sneer turns malicious. "I didn't say anything about letting little Sammy go. I said I wouldn't hurt him if you bring me Castiel." It's Dean's turn to get angry. The day's frustration and agitation about to reach its bursting point. Dean takes a deep breath. He knew this was going to happen, but it doesn't make it sting any less. "And since you did what you're told, I'll call ahead and tell them to hold off the cocaine."

Gordon flips out his mobile phone and starts dialing. Dean sits frozen to the spot. What? What the fuck is Gordon talking about? Cocaine? "Hey Harper, yeah. Change of mind. Yes, no. We save the cocaine for later." Dean snaps out of his shock.

"You're feeding my brother cocaine?!" he yells launching at Gordon. Two hands come up to pull him back by his t-shirt. "He's 6, you fucking pyscho!!" Unadulterated fury and genuine fear flow through Dean's vein. What kind of a sick fuck gives a six-year-old cocaine? He tears himself loose from Castiel's grip, flying at Gordon. Rage blinds him. He wants to hurt the man sitting across from him as much as he could. He tackles Gordon onto his back and the both of them topple over with Dean on top. He scrambles up, whipping a hand back and- 

"Dean!" He hears Castiel screams as he feel the blunt head of a gun poking his stomach. He falters, fist still raised mid-air, ready to strike. "Dean, please. Think about Sam," Castiel begs from somewhere behind him, his voice shaky. Dean's whole body shakes with the effort not to slam his fist down into the smug face. He's breathing hard, his nose flaring. Gordon presses the gun harder into his ribs, his eyes challenging. Letting out a harsh breath, Dean lets his hand fall and pushes off Gordon. He falls back onto his butt. Castiel's arms are around him in an instance, pulling him back.

"You're a fucking psycho, you know that?" Dean spits, voice low and hard. 

"Relax, Sammy is untouched. I promised, didn't I?" He picks up his mobile phone that had scattered across the van and stuff it into his pocket. "I thought you chicken out on me. You took a long time. I got bored. Thought I get Sammy all soft and pliant for me when I get back." Dean growls. "But that's not necessary now, not when I have blue eyes over there." He flicks his gun at Castiel. "Little Sammy is too young for my taste anyway," he adds as an afterthought. There's a hungry look in his eyes as he roams Castiel's body. "I missed you, angel. You cried and begged so pretty for me. It makes me hard just thinking about it." He slides closer, pulling down Castiel's collar. "You look so pretty with my marks all over you," he breathes, eyes hooded with lust. 

Castiel stiffens beside him. He doesn't look at Gordon. His eyes stare straight ahead, expression blank. There's a light tremble shaking his frame. Dean hooks his little finger around Castiel's pinky, squeezing lightly. Castiel blinks, and he looks down at their intertwined fingers. Unfortunately, Gordon notices and calls him out on it.

"Awww, that's so sweet, Dean. But save the act for someplace else because let's be honest here. If you really cared about Castiel, he wouldn't be here. Right. Back. With. Me." He whispers each word in Castiel's ear before licking his cheek. Leaning back, he continues, "So tell me, Dean. What kind of person does that make you? Hmm?" Gordon taunts. "Admit it. You're a monster. Just like us. Maybe even more."

Every word Gordon throws at him is like a punch in the gut. Every word rings true. He served Castiel up to them on a silver platter. Gordon is right. He is worse. Castiel is a stranger to them, but Dean had said he loves him. And what did he do? Dean gave him up at the first sign of trouble. He's a good for nothing- Castiel places a hand on his thigh. Dean stares down at it. He gives Dean a soft squeeze. His face feels hot. Dean closes his eyes, stopping the tears from coming. 

Even now, Castiel is the stronger one, giving him comfort and strength. Castiel wouldn't want him to blame himself. Dean has to be strong. He has to keep reminding himself that Castiel chose this. He's doing this because he loves Dean. And he must never let himself forget that. Dean remains quiet as he tries not to let Gordon's words get to him. When he deems it's safe to open his eyes, Dean plasters a smile on his face. 

"Says the drug addict who likes raping young boys," he shoots back. 

Gordon laughs. "Touche. There's just something about pretty boys that gets me all worked up, you know. Girls work to, but they're just not as much fun as boys. They break too easily; quick to cry and beg. They're weak. It doesn't give me anything to make a girl cry. I don't gain any satisfaction from it. But when a boy does it, when they finally break," Gordon closes his eyes and smiles, like he's remembering something sweet and precious. "The humiliation on their face as they shed their first tear-" Gordon open his eyes. "It's beautiful." 

"It makes me hard, knowing I'm the one to break them. Watch as the fight goes out of their body. The feeling is all-encompassing, powerful. Their cries of agony like music to my ears and when they beg..." Gordon opens his eyes, shining with undisguised pleasure. "They all eventually beg. Begged for me to stop. Begged for me to show mercy. Or," He looks at Castiel. "Begged to die."

Dean stops breathing. He doesn't dare to look at Castiel, afraid to see the truth of Gordon's words on his face. But he needs to know. He flicks his eyes over to the teen beside him. Castiel is not looking at anything but the carpet in front of him, his head bowed in defeat. His heart feels like someone with sharp claws grip it tight, the nails digging into the flesh. It hurts, knowing he that Castiel wanted to die. That he couldn't think of anything to fight for, to stay alive. It hurts. "Cas?"

Castiel turns tear filled eyes on him. "I was in so much pain, Dean. And it feels like it will never end. I just wanted the pain to stop," he whispers. 

Dean pulls him close and kisses his forehead, guilt making it hard for him to breathe. Castiel chose death when faced with the brutality these men unleashed on him. And Dean brought him back. Castiel leans heavily on him, arms coming up around his waist, hugging him back tight. Dean doesn't deserve this. Doesn't deserve to have Castiel's trust or his touches. 

"See what I mean? They break so beautifully. Oh, Castiel. I'm going to have so much fun with you."

Castiel just clings onto Dean tighter, silent. It's too late now. Guilt doesn't do shit. There's only one way to make this right. Or at least, tilt the scale a little. Dean glowers at Gordon over Castiel's head. "I would like to see you try breaking me," he challenges. 

Castiel freezes against him before pulling away, looking up at Dean with anger in his eyes. In a low intimidating tone, so that only he could hear, Castiel growls. "Dean, I know what you're doing. Don't." His sapphire blue eyes blaze with a ferocity Dean has never seen before. Warning. Threatening. He blinks, taken aback. Castiel looks pissed, and Dean actually feels a little scared. It's like his eyes are burning a hole into his skull. He gulps.

"Oh, you will break, Dean. They all do."

Dean snaps his eyes back at Gordon. He can feel Castiel slumps then, defeated. "We'll see about that," he taunts, surprised to find his voice steady even as his heart beats erratically against his ribcage. He prays to God that Lucifer will find them soon, and fast. To be honest, he can't believe he's putting his hopes on the man who had done nothing but made his life a living nightmare. How fucked up is his life?

The van slows to a stop. Gordon smiles, pointing the gun at Dean as he motions for him to open the door. "Ballsy boy go first. Angel go second." Dean pulls open the sliding door and steps out, reaching behind him to help Castiel out. Castiel's movement is stiff and he looks to be in pain. The trip from the hospital in the van wasn't a smooth ride. There were bumps along the way and they must have jarred Castiel's wounds a little. He seems exhausted in the bright daylight. He has his eyes closed and is breathing evenly. 

Gordon steps out next, gun still aiming at them. The door to the driver side opens and Leo jumps out. He doesn't look happy at all, glaring dagger at Dean with his dark brown eyes. A bruise is starting to form around his left jaw. He massages it, narrowing his eyes threateningly at Dean. "You're in for a world of pain, boy. That's a promise."

"Yeah yeah. Is Spike awake yet?"

"Motherfucker is going to get it!" A voice yells from the front of the van. 

Gordon barks out a laugh. "It's your own damn fault, Spike! Wait 'til the rest hear about this," he mocks. A string of curses follows Gordon's comment. Snorting, Gordon motions for Leo to move. The man cracks his knuckles and gives Dean another stink eye before walking off. Dean glares at him, reveling in the savage pleasure he feels at seeing the slight limp in his gait. 

Spike rounds the back of the van, glaring at Gordon as he starts laughing again. "Shut up," he grumbles. "And you," he snaps, pointing at Dean. "You're going to wish you hadn't done that," he snarls, stepping into his space, leaning in so that their faces are almost touching. 

"I don't kiss unless you buy me dinner first," Dean smirks. 

"Motherfucker-" Spike raises his hand. 

"Enough! We have more than enough time to play with this bitch. Calm the fuck down, Spike. Now move the fuck on!" Gordon bellows. Spike grits his teeth before stalking off after Leo. "I like you, Dean-o. You got balls. But if you keep taunting my men like this, I doubt you have them for long."

Dean scoffs and just only avoids rolling his eyes. Whatever. Let them come. Let them all come. At least then, their focus will be on him. Castiel and Sam would be safe. He just needs to buy some more time until Lucifer comes. At least, Dean hopes he will. That's his plan anyway. 

Castiel doesn't look too happy as he considers the situation. Gordon motions for them to move, taking point behind them while Spike continues to storm ahead. Dean takes the opportunity to take a good look around. They look to be at an abandoned building. It looks pretty isolated. He couldn't see any other building around for miles.

The inside of the building is old and dusty. There are cobwebs hanging from the doors and ceilings. He watches as Castiel takes in everything, his eyes observant and contemplative. He'd already seen all this before when they had taken him to the van earlier. They walk for about ten minutes through a maze-like hallway before they reach where Leo is standing by an opened door. Dean suspects Spike took them on a scenic route so they won't be able to tell where they're held at. Dean feels a flash of disappointment.

As they walk through the door, Leo whispers in Castiel's ear. "Love the new limp, angel." Castiel flinches but other than that remains stoic as he enters the room. When Dean passes by Leo, the man grabs him and shoves him inside, causing him to lost his balance and falls to his knees a few meters in front of him. He pushes himself up and whips around to give the man a bitch face that would make even Sam proud when he hears his name. 

"Dean!" Then, "Is that you?"

When he turns around, sure enough he sees Sam illuminated underneath the harsh light of the spot ahead. "Sam!" He rushes towards Sam until he's kneeling in front of him. He runs a hand through Sam's damp hair, pushing it from his forehead so he could look at his brother properly. "Did they do anything to you? Are you hurt?" He scans his eyes over Sam's face, then over his body, examining for any tell tales signs of abuse. Sam is shaking his head, his cheek red and flushed. "I got scared." Dean could tell he's holding back tears.

"Why were you scared?" 

Sam shakes his small head, looking down. "Hey, I'm here, Sammy. It's alright. I'm here. I came back like I promise. I didn't leave you," he soothes perceiving what Sam doesn't say. He leans forwards and gives his little brother a kiss on the forehead. Castiel limps forward. 

"Hello, Sam."

Sam peeks his head out from Dean's embrace, surprised before his expression changes. "I'm sorry, Cas," he says, all sad puppy dog eyes. "Dean had to. Because of me. Please don't blame him." Dean straightens up, running his fingers through Sam's hair. He doesn't dare to look back at Castiel right now; he's afraid he would do something stupid like break down and cry for forgiveness or some shit. Now that he's with Sam again, the steely determination he'd built up, to forced himself to do what Gordon had asked crumbles to pieces. Seeing Sam again, unharmed and alive, the full magnitude of what he'd done to attain it crashes down on him. 

"Sam, I don't blame Dean. I don't blame you either," he says. "I care about you and if there's anything I can do to help, I will. Dean didn't force me to do anything. I'm here of my own free will." 

"Sounds like someone can't get enough of us," says a voice behind them. "Coming back for seconds, angel? I'll be sure we don't disappoint." 

Dean senses more than see Castiel stiffens up behind him. He gets up to his feet and meet Castiel's eyes. They share a look, a silent communication. This is it. _Promise not to do anything stupid._

Dean would have laugh if it isn't also so heartbreaking. It's bittersweet. To think that at this moment of truth, they're both worried about the other person rather than themselves. He cracks a smile then turns around to face Gordon.

There's five men in the room. Gordon, Spike and Leo and two other men Dean doesn't know the name of yet. They both have dark shaggy blonde hair and the same chiseled jaws and sharp nose. Their eyes are squinty and small. One of them have a large tattoo of a number sequence on his forearm. Dean thinks they're brothers. Everyone is staring them, stony face and anger from Spike and Leo and casual indifference from the Hardy Boys. The silence is broken by Gordon. 

"Bon appétit," he smirks. He nods at Spike who gives Dean a wicked smile as he cracks his knuckles, heading towards him. Dean sees him coming and he's ready for it. He spreads legs shoulder width apart and steadies himself, holding his weight, eyes never leaving the man. 

"You want a piece of this sweet ass? Come and get it, you son of a bitch!" he taunts. 

Spike roars and launches. Dean is not small by any standards but he's still a teenager with a growing body and Spike is a full grown men with muscles and body fat so chances are, he will lose. But lucky for Dean, his dad had taught him a few moves and he could stand his own. He dodges as Spike's fist fly by his face by mere inches and punches him in the gut, taking advantage of his shock to register another kick to his kneecaps.

After that, it's open season. Someone grabs his arms from behind, holding them in an arm-lock. Dean throws his head backward, attempting to head butt whoever it is, feeling triumph as his head hits something hard and someone yells. His own head hurts like hell but yeah, it still feels good. The man's grip loosen but not enough for Dean to pull free. Next thing he knows, Leo's fist is right in his face. Oh, shit he thinks before Leo's fist connects with the side of his face. His head whips to the side, teeth clacking and blood flying. Dean spits, blood dripping from his mouth. 

"Is that all you got?" he bites out. "Feels like an itch." 

Leo roars, landing punch after punch onto his face and torso. Dean couldn't remember much after that. Just pain all over his body and head. He thinks he hears someone crying and screaming in the distance but it all blurs into a cacophony of sounds. He next thing he registers is that the punches and kicks have stopped. His head feels like they're about to split open and he can hardly see through his right eyes. Blood drips into his eyes from a cut just above his brow. Dean wonders how he'd gotten that. His face feels like a pulp; he can barely feel it anymore. Panting, he laughs, a rumble that makes his insides hurt. Leo might have broken a few ribs and his kidneys, yeah. Nope. Not good.

He can hear voices but has a hard time focusing on them. Someone lifts his head up by his hair. His eyes roll back into his head and Dean thought he's going to pass out when a sharp slap wakes him up. He blinks blood out of his eyes, tries to move and realizes he's now bound to a chair. Okay, so maybe he did pass out. Jesus fuck. Panicked, he looks for Sam, heart in his throat, fearing something might have happened to him while he was gone. He finds Sam immediately, by his side to his right. Dean breathes a sigh of relief. But it doesn't last long because Sam is staring at something in front of him with terrified eyes. _Cas._

Dean snaps his head around and freezes at the sight before of him. Gordon is standing behind Castiel with his gun out and stroking the side of his face. But instead of worrying about the gun that is now pressed against his throat where the bandage is, Castiel seems more concern about Dean. His brows are furrowed with worry and the look on his face is devastating. His fingers twitch at his side like they want to reach out and touch Dean. 

"Now, Dean-o, why'd you have to go and do a thing like that? Now both Spike and Leo have a bad leg. And we do not tolerate that kind of behavior, do we boys?" Dean only now notices the rest of the men littering about, glaring daggers at Dean. Gordon trails the butt of the gun slowly down Castiel's torso, skimming down his chest towards his stomach. He leans in low and whispers something in Castiel's ear, soft enough that Dean's unable to hear what he said. Outwardly, it doesn't seems like Castiel reacted at all but Dean is skilled enough in Cas-talk to see the burst of fear in his eyes.

Gordon reaches the waistband of his jeans. Then, very deliberately he inserts it into the front of Castiel's jeans, right where his crotch is. Castiel's fingers twitches but other than that, he remains as still as a statue. Dean knows that Castiel could feel the cold metal of the gun against the sensitive skin on his groin because they hadn't let him buy any underwear. Why would Castiel needs one when they're just going to take it off him anyway? Dean's eyes are glued on the bulge in Castiel's jeans, his heart rate spiking. The unmistakable sound of a gun cocking echoes loudly in the silent room.

"Are you ready for your punishment, Dean? You better."

It's like every horror action movie Dean had seen when you just know something bad is going to happen and everything slows down. That's exactly what happens. The scene in front of him slows down. Dean can see the way Gordon's mouth twists up at the corner, an evil smile. See the disgustingly slow trail his tongue make up Castiel neck. The deliberate movement of his mouth as he says, "Bang". Castiel closes his eyes. Dean's heart stills. And then, a loud explosion shatters the stillness of the room.

Then, time seems to go back to normal. The ringing continues in the silence that follows. He stares, unable to process what he'd seen, his heart ready to explode from the shock and the subsequent realization. A dark stain begins to form at the front of Castiel's jeans, drenching the fabric. He didn't realize his throat was stuck until it unstuck and he lets out a scream. Anguish, pain, and despair rip out of his throat.

"CAS!

\---

Today had been one disaster after another. First, they have found out that Walker had been right under their noses the whole time. Then, they have just missed him at the hotel and at the same time discovered that Walker had Dean. And just to screw with him, he had the scare of his life thinking something had happened to Michael. Which luckily had turned out to be a false alarm. 

That's the only saving grace for today because then Anna had called with more bad news. Sam is missing, and so is Dean. The part about Dean isn't surprising, but knowing that Gordon knows enough to take Sam as collateral jars him. To top off the already perfect day, the hospital had called to ask if he had taken Castiel. Which he hadn't. And then they proceeded to double check with security and told him that yes, he did. Castiel was seen leaving with Dean. By then, it was obvious what had happened. 

He can't believe Walker now has three of his people. Castiel included. How did this go so wrong? How did it went from Lucifer hunting down Walker to Walker picking off his people one by one? He's so tired of being one step behind Walker the whole time, rushing to places just in time to see the aftermath. The motherfucker is spinning them in circles, probably laughing his ass off. 

When Lucifer had arrived at the hospital, he was greeted by a disheveled looking Azazel. One look at him said it all. Azazel possesses the ability to remain calm and collected in any situation. But even he is frazzled at the likes of Walker, his boldness and audacity like a fuck you to the face. If things don't stop escalating, he won't be able to keep this from the feds any longer. And he doesn't want that. He handed Lucifer a note before storming off with a curt, "Clean up this goddamn mess, Lucifer". 

It's a note from Dean. In it, Dean had written about his side of the story, all of which Lucifer was able to deduce based on the current evidence and circumstances. The only thing that peaks his interest is Dean's description of the place he thought they were being held at; an abandoned warehouse. That should narrow down the search. Dean also mentioned that Walker is not alone; he had seen two other guys at least excluding Walker. They'll have to sit down and dissect the video soon and figure out who they're dealing with.

Lucifer stares at the map laid out in front of him on top of the small coffee table. To ensure that Walker will not be able to keep tabs on them, they are currently holed up in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, in the world crappiest apartment ever. The place is more a hole in the wall than anything else and Lucifer is offended on Michael's behalf. He's very much doubting the sincerity of said 'friend' who had recommended this place. 

The wallpapers are peeling revealing a sick yellow color behind them. It's not like the wallpapers were any better, a pastel pink that has seen better days. The apartment has one room and that room is supposed to be their living room, bedroom, and kitchen all in one. Can it be any more economical? Lucky for them, they're still provided with the decency of a toilet slash bathroom. Though, upon further inspection, it's revealed that there's no hot water and the flush is temperalmental; deciding when to work and when not to. 

"Can't your 'friend' get a better place than this crap?" Lucifer complains. "Like where the hell did he even find a dump like this? This place is a hell hole." He sniffs. "Even smells like one." He slumps back onto the two-person couch and abruptly straightens back up, not wanting to touch the filthy thing more than he had to. He gives the couch a stink eye; taking in the discolored patches staining the brown fabric. He doesn't ever want to know what those stains are or where it comes from and he's staying the fuck away from them. Scooting to the edge of the couch, he braces his hands on his knees and stares up at the unperturbed blue eyed man standing on the other side of the table.

"Well, according to you, Crowley is working with Gordon. And according to my man, the only place Crowley couldn't reach is a place no men or women want to go. Therefore," he motions towards the room at large. "I know it's a bit- gross but you and I had seen worse. We once camped out in the middle of the forest in the pouring rain. At least now we have a roof over our head and..." He glances towards the lonely mattress stuffed into the far corner of the room. "Bed," he tries, lifting one shoulder up. Lucifer looks at the dismal piece of quite possibly diseases ridden mattress with disgust.

"If you think I'll be sleeping in that godforsaken mattress, you have another thing coming, Michael."

Michael shrugs and mutters, "Suit yourself." He looks down at the upside down map in front of him and tilts his head, frowning. "Do you want me to have a go at it?" he asks, indicating the map. Lucifer turns the map around and shoves it at Michael, happy to delegate this part of the job. The analytic, the calculation, the thinking. Ugh, he hates them with fervor. And he's not good at it.

He's more of an in-the-field kind of person. He's better at deducing and thinking on his feet than sitting behind the desk and try to make sense of intel and data. He's no good at research, hates the tedious work it requires, hates all the little details he has to pay attention to. It's mind-numbing and he rather not do it. Which is why they make such a good team. Michael analyzes and comes up with a conclusion that he would understand and Lucifer strategizes and plans their next move. Seems like a fair trade-off. 

"It will be my pleasure," he almost groan, watching as Michael crouches down lower to take a better look at the map. This cursed room only has one seating arrangement and that is the couch Lucifer is currently hogging. Michael's face screws up in concentration as he picks up the red sharpie Lucifer had been playing with and starts circling a few areas on the map; the Lullaby Blues motel, the hospital, the truck stop, the high school, Sam's middle school and the group home.

Then, switching to the blue sharpie, he draws a dotted line from the high school to the motel and scribbles 15 mins on top of it. He draws another dotted line from the motel to Sam's school. Pausing, he swipes his mobile phone and clicks on the Google Maps app. He enters the two address and scribbles the estimated travel time by car onto the map above the line; 20 mins. He hovers the blue sharpie over the circle where the hospital is at, deliberating.

Michael ignores the hospital and moves over to Lullaby Blues Motel, scribbling 10:55 in the red circle there. Then, 15:00 on Sam's middle school before going to the hospital and jotting down 16:30. Going back to his mobile phone, he searches out all the abandoned warehouses in the areas, marking them on the map with the red sharpie. Apprehension dawns on Lucifer. Michael is trying to create a timeline to calculate the possible distance Gordon could make if he were to visit all these places at each point of time. That would narrow down their area of interest and then all he have to do is cross references them with warehouses in that particular area.

Lucifer is impressed. Damn, Michael is a genius! But then again, the whole calculation part is going to take some tedious detail work. Something Lucifer doesn't want to be part of. So, he slaps his hands on both his thighs and exclaims. "Well, I see you've got everything under control. Why don't I go and get us some dinner? I'm starving. We hadn't even had lunch yet. Pizza or pasta?" 

Michael is looking up at Lucifer with an annoyed expression on his face. He hates it when he's interrupted in the middle of his 'thinking' process. "Whatever is fine with me. You decide," he says in a monotone, diving right back into deciphering the timeline. 

Standing up, he stretches pulling his hands up taut above his head until he hears the satisfying sound of his back popping. He groans, letting his hands fall. When he looks down, his heart thumps a little bit faster. Michael is no longer looking at the map but somewhere at Lucifer's stomach, his face unreadable. His gaze is steady, and there's something unidentifiable burning behind them. Feeling self-conscious all of a sudden, he clears his throat catching Michael's attention as his eyes snap up to meet his. Without missing a beat, Michael comments. 

"One day, you're going to snap something in your back if it keeps making noises like that." 

Feeling flustered but trying not to show it, he counters. "Everyone does it, Michael. It feels good. You should try it sometimes." He rolls his eyes before adding, "And please stop crouching on the floor. You're making me hurt just looking at you. There's a perfectly sturdy albeit dubious couch over here so please, take a seat." He gestures towards the couch, presenting with a cocked brow and waits for Michael to respond. 

It's Michael's turn to roll his eyes now as he pushes himself upright; shifting from foot to foot to encourage blood circulation back into his feet. Then, he moves to occupy the spot Lucifer had vacated. He sits with his feet a comfortable distance apart and rests his arms on his knees before leaning forward to turn the map around. Lucifer grabs his leather jacket and takes the few steps to the door, opening it. 

Before leaving, however, he gives Michael one backward glance. He finds himself appreciating the way Michael's jeans clings at his thighs before his eyes zeroed in on the area where said thighs intercept and he swiftly drags his eyes away. Nope. _Nope._ He's not going to sexually fantasize about Michael again. One time a day is more than enough. He exits and closes the door behind him with a sigh.

There's a long line at the pizza place around the corner, but Lucifer manages to secure two pizzas before it gets too dark. A Meat Lover with extra cheese topping for himself a Hawaiian Supreme for Michael. He's one of those people who thinks pineapples are appropriate pizza toppings. Lucifer knows better than to comment on it because the last time he did, Michael had biten into his slice with more enthusiasm than is appropriate for a pizza. The moan he had let out made something in his stomach felt sick. Now that Lucifer thinks about it, he was most likely aroused. 

Shaking his head at his own deniability, he climbs up the cramped stairwell. When he reaches the door to the apartment, he tries the knob. Locked. Huffing in irritation, he knocks. In addition to the abysmal apartment, the 'friend' only had one set of key. To be honest, Lucifer doesn't think this place even needs to be locked. The door looks flimsy enough that it wouldn't take much effort to break it down. 

The door swings open and Michael is standing there. Shirtless. And glistening. Why is he glistening? Lucifer stands frozen, his mouth agape, one hand balancing two pizza boxes and the other hanging awkwardly by his side. When Michael cocks an eyebrow at him, he snaps his mouth shut and shoves his way inside. He's very aware of the man behind him and the fact that he just _brushed_ his very bare, very naked chest. His heart is pounding in his ears.

For crying out loud, get a grip, Lucifer! It's not like he had never seen Michael shirtless before. They had lived together for two years and shared enough close quarters for him to have even stumbled upon Michael in tight boxers short before. This shouldn't be such a shock to his system. But his body is saying otherwise; his cheek is flushing, heart running amok, and there's a heat burning low in his gut. 

Dropping the pizza boxes onto the table, he turns around and glares at Michael, suddenly furious. "There's no hot water. How are you taking a shower without hot water? Are you out of your mind?" Lucifer's frustration is turning into anger real fast and he directing it at the source of his discomfort. Who at the moment is ignoring him in favor of rubbing his head with a white fluffy towel, flicking water everywhere. He flinches back as they splattered over him.

Michael is dressed only in his jeans, which is hanging dangerously low on his hips because it seems like the man can't even bother to button it up. Upon further inspection, not that Lucifer wants to, but his eyes just roamed okay; he comes to the terrifying conclusion that Michael might be going commando. He chokes on air and tries to mask it with a burst of coughs, turning away to hide is steadfastly burning face. Jesus Christ, can't a man go out and buy pizzas and come back to a relatively normal environment?

"It's not that bad. It's good to have a cold shower once in a while. It helps improve blood circulation and relieve muscle soreness. Not that I'm sore at the moment. It did sent me to full alertness though," Michael says behind him. 

Lucifer tries to ignore the double meaning in his words, knowing that Michael is being oblivious as always. He takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose before he faces Michael again. Of course, he has to choose that moment to wipe down his chest. He can't stop his eyes from following that drop of water that trails down those abs to dry on the waistband of those jeans.

"You should try it sometimes," he adds, repeating what Lucifer had said earlier before winking at him. Lucifer wants to smash something. The nerve of that man. Michael starts to walk then, and he finds that he can't move, watches as the other man approaches him. He moves around him, his skin just barely grazing Lucifer's jacket. His fingers twitch, but he clenches them back into fists. Michael drapes his towel over the busted heater. 

Blinking back into his body, Lucifer huffs. He slides his jacket off and grabs his box of pizza, collapsing onto the couch. He's going to pretend Michael doesn't exist and eat his pizza in peace. When he opens his box of pizza and the 6 big slices of bacon heaven stares back at him, he forgets all about Michael and his nakedness. He grabs a slice and bites into it, moaning as the cheesy sweetness melts in his mouth. Damn, he's starving finishing the slice in three bites. 

Just as he's about to grab his second slice, a body slumps right next to him, squeezing into his space. Now when Lucifer says the couch is a two person couch, he means there's two seats on it, but the couch is small. Definitely too small for two grown man to be sitting side by side in. 

He can feel Michael's thighs pressing right against him, almost on top of his own and _he's still not wearing a shirt!_. Their bare arms are touching now and when he tries to wriggle more space for himself, he accidentally elbows Michael in the chest, eliciting a groan from the man. Lucifer can't handle this right now. He just want to eat his pizza without being sexually harassed. Is that too much to ask?

"Quit sitting on me," he snaps.

"I'm not. Scoot over then," Michael shoots back.

"I'm already at the edge!"

"So am I!"

Lucifer shoves at Michael with his arm, wriggling and squirming in his seat trying to get comfortable. Michael shoves back just as hard.

"Quit shoving!" Lucifer grumbles. 

"You did it first." 

Lucifer closes his eyes. He had forgotten how often they squabbled like three years old sometimes over the most stupid things. He feels like time had just reversed itself and they're back at Michael's house. Michael is complaining about how he's the only one bothered to keep the house clean. "Your dirty dishes are still lying in the sink, Luke." Or "You can't just keep borrowing my clothes because you don't want to do your laundry!" 

And of course, Lucifer had to retort with his own discomfort like the fact that Michael loves using his coffee mug. Or the fact that his favorite time to practice his dagger throwing skills is when Lucifer's sleeping. "If I don't know better, Michael I would say that the thudding sound is you having the best sex of your life. But I do know better and can you please keep it down while I'm trying to sleep?" And it will go on and on between them until eventually one of them will storm off.

Lucifer exhales deeply, tilting his head back so that when he opens his eyes, he's staring at the stained ceiling. It feels like old time and Lucifer doesn't know if he hates it or loves it.

Michael had stopped pushing and is now looking over at Lucifer. They're sitting so close that it is unnerving to have Michael's blue gaze on him like that. "Eat your fucking pizza and stop staring," he says not looking at Michael as he grabs a slice of pizza. He chews on it and tries to distract himself with thoughts on the case. 

"Did you managed to figure out where Walker is hiding?" he asks as Michael reaches forward to grab his own pizza box. He opens it and takes a slice out. He nods as he bites into it, then waits until he has finished chewing and swallowed to speak.

"They're at an old abandoned building. It used to be an restorative auto factory. Plenty of space and isolation to hold someone there. It's the only building large enough to be mistaken as a warehouse that fits the timeline. The others are way out of town, and unless Walker had multiple people kidnapping at the same time, which I don't think so, seeing as Walker was with Sam and later with Dean and Castiel, it only seems logic that he was present at both scenes. Therefore, making this," He pokes at a spot on the map where he had circled three times "the only suspect." He leans back and takes another bite from his pizza. "What do you think? Rest up tonight or do you want to stake the place out?" 

Lucifer knows Michael rather do the stakeout. He always wants to act as soon as he gets the info not wanting to waste another precious minute and Lucifer is thinking the same thing. Every minute they're left at Walker's hand are minutes spent being tortured. If he were in their place, he would want him to come sooner rather than later. "We stake the place out tonight. Canvas the area. See how many people we're dealing with." 

"If the opportunity presents, are we going in for the kill?"

Lucifer thinks about it. It is risky. Michael's goal is to kill Walker. He may or may not care who get caught in the crossfire. But knowing Michael, he would care a lot if they're kids. And in this case, they are. He thinks he can trust Michael to ensure the safety of his charges. 

"Yes, if we see a shot, we go for it. But the safety of those kids is also a priority. I want them to make it out of this alive. Can you promise me that?" He owes Castiel too much to let him die on his watch. The kid had done nothing wrong except to love him. And he had used him in his demented way to cope. Lucifer sees it now, what Castiel is to him; who he sees Castiel as. 

Michael nods. "I understand. And you trust me on this?"

Lucifer stiffens up at that. "Can I?" he asks, his tone sarcastic and bitter. 

"Yes, Luke." Michael is staring at him with those earnest blue eyes that Lucifer feels himself get lost in them. He doesn't have it in him to get mad. Holding a grudge is tiring, and he had been holding one the size of Texas for too long. He's tired. 

"Okay," he says instead. 

Michael smiles and turns back to his pizza, taking another slice biting into it. Lucifer doesn't say anything else but continues eating his pizza. They eat in silence. Their arms brush against one another as they move and their thighs are pressed closed together. Something feels different. The air feels easy, relaxed. The tension between them gone.

Lucifer doesn't know if it has something to do with his recent revelation, but he thinks Michael is different. He can't exactly tell in details what it was, but something about the way Michael acts towards him had changed. He seems to care more, listen more and actually tries to be understanding for once. Could it be guilt? Is Michael feeling guilty for what he'd done? 

To be honest, he never quite understands how someone who had his back numerous time would be capable of something like this. They weren't best friends, but they weren't strangers either. He knows Michael has a strange sense of obligation and duty to his contracts, but why not reject the offer when he realized the target was Lucifer? Why did he go ahead and took it? Was it because it's easy? Since Lucifer would never suspect a thing. Maybe it's the money.

Looking at Michael now, he wonders if the man felt any remorse for what he did. The funny thing is, Lucifer thinks he just might. 


	21. Chapter 21

The room rings in the sudden silence after the gunshot. Dean is unable to tear his gaze away as Castiel crumbles to the ground. The thud as he lands onto his knees echoes throughout the room. His heart is beating twice as fast as he strains against the tie-rips binding him to the chair. No, this is not happening. This cannot be happening. 

Castiel is trembling all over, chest heaving as he breathes harshly through his nose. Teardrops fall from his face, glistening in the overhead light. The dark patch at the front of his jeans is all Dean can see. He still couldn't comprehend the scene in front of him. His brain isn't working like it's supposed to. Maybe Spike had knocked something loose inside. 

Then, Castiel is leaning forward as he braces his weight on his palms and retches. Except nothing comes up. Nothing but a long trail of saliva connecting his mouth to the concrete floor. Castiel dry heaves again, the hacking noises sounds painful even to Dean's ear. He wants to say something but his throat had gave up working. Beside him, he can hear Sam cries. 

Suddeny he's caught up in blue eyes as Castiel looks up at him. His eyes are bleary and red rimmed, shining with tears. There's a film of sweat covering his forehead making it glistens under the bright overhead light. Castiel looks like he aged five years in the small amount of time between the hospital and here. The lines around his eyes seem deeper, the dark circle darker and the bruises uglier.

The smell of urine hits his nostril at the same time as Gordon lets out a roar of laughter, clutching at his stomach. All at once a barrage of feelings hits his system and Dean recoils with the force of it. Watching the scene in front of him, Dean feels sick. Fear and relief wars against each other. And then anger. Next comes hopelessness. Then, despair. They all battle for dominance, wringing him out. There's too many emotions at once that Dean couldn't tell which one ends and the other begins.

Castiel is dry heaving again, clutching at his stomach. There's a slight tremble to his frame and he's pale. His face is as white as sheet. The strength of his retches rattles his entire body and it seems entirely possible that Castiel might hack out a lung the way he's going. 

"Cas?" he croaks out, his voice thin and high. 

Castiel looks up, face pained and shakes his head weakly before he is heaving again. Gordon's laughs continues to boom in the room, causing Dean's headache to spike. "That was hilarious. I cannot believe you peed yourself, angel!" Gordon gasps. "You really think I'm going to shoot your dick off?" Gordon bursts into a peal of fresh laughter, wiping his eyes. Spike and Leo are sniggering along with him now, after their initial shock. 

Gordon leans down and grabs Castiel up by his hair, pulling his head back roughly. "Take your jeans off. You're disgusting," he sneers. Then to Spike, he adds "Get me the hose. We got a bitch to clean." 

His eyes darts around the room wondering what Gordon had meant. But again, he can't see a goddamn thing outside their circle of light as he come to call it. He watches Spike ventures outside the circle and a moment later, a burst of light shines into the room. Previously, he had been too occupied to pay attention to the room they're in. Now though, Dean takes the opportunity to get a thorough glimpse. 

They're in the same room as before. From the light outside, Dean could just make out the size of the room. It's approximately the size a classroom, but bare of any furniture except for the chairs they're occupying. Dean can tell that they're in the middle it, the only light in the room coming fron the overhead spot. 

There are no windows just plain walls on four sides. The only way in and out is through the door Spike just went out from. Dean looks up and squint at the glare. The lamp hangs low, just a few feet above him if he is to stand. He couldn't see anything further than the lamp itself but based on the echos, he guesses that the ceiling must be high. Higher than your typical room. A clanking noise from outside distracts him. Gordon pulls Castiel to his feet by his hair.

"What did I said, angel?" he gruffs out, pulling at his hair again causing him to wince in pain. "Huh? Take your fucking jeans off."

Castiel's hands is shaking as they reaches for the button of his jeans. His eyes find Dean's before flitting down, ashamed. Dean can see the twitch in his jaw as he unbuttons his jeans, letting them falls to his ankles, baring him to the room. Dean stares at the pale skin in front of him and takes in the mottled bruises on Castiel's thigh.

He tries not to look at Castiel's limp cock and balls poking out from under the hem of his yellow T-shirt. His inner thighs is shiny. Wet. Castiel's hands twitch at his side like he wants to cover himself but he doesn't. "Look at the mess you made of yourself. Fucking filthy," Gordon admonishes like he's not enjoying making Castiel's life miserable.

Spike returns to the room, leaving the door ajar so that he could bring the hose in. He passes the head of the tube to Gordon. With his grip on Castiel's hair, he shoves him aside. Castiel stumbles a little but manages to stay upright. Gordon points the hose at Castiel and smirks. 

"Ready?" he asks. It's rethorical because right after he said it, he presses down on the valve. A jet of water shoots out, hitting Castiel squarely in the back. He lets out a yelp and stumbles forward, fighting against the current to stay upright and in place. The water is splashing everywhere from where it hits Castiel, drenching the place. 

The roar of the water pressure is deafening in the room. Dean could tell that it's painful. Castiel tries hard to remain in place as Gordon aims the spray further down his back to his ass. As the water hits his butt, the sound of water beating against skin, Castiel falters. His hands clenches into fists and by the way he had his head bowed, Dean knows he's struggling not to run away from the contact.

"Turn around, Castiel," Gordon commands in a low voice. 

Dean glances over at Sam, who is staring wide eyes at the scene in front of him and mutters. "Sammy, don't look. Close your eyes." Sam fixes terrified eyes at Dean and at his nod, squeezes his eyes shut. Dean knows this is going to turn demeaning and he knows Castiel wouldn't want Sam to see him like this. He probably doesn't want Dean to either, but he can't not watch. 

He tries to make eye contact with Castiel. He wants Castiel to know he's here for him. And that no matter what happend, he never has to feel ashamed in front of Dean. Ever. But Castiel has his eyes squeezes shut as he turns around, the spray hitting him on his torso. He lets out a grunt of pain and curls in on himself; his hands coming up to shield the worst of the spray. 

"Don't you dare shield yourself from me, angel. Hands at your side. Now!" Castiel is shaking as he forces his hand to stay still by his side and lets the spray hit him in the chest. His T-shirt is drenched and is hanging heavily on his body. Gordon raises his aim and sprays him in the face. Castiel bows his head down, moving it from left to right trying to avoid the water from hitting his eyes. 

After a minute or two, Gordon makes his way south. Dean watches with increased trepidation as the point of contact goes lower and lower. When it reaches Castiel's crotch, he gasps out in pain as he curls in on himself. With his eyes closed and jaw tight, he takes the abuse, his thighs shaking.

"Here we go... Let's get that piss off you." Dean bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from screaming. The area around his groin is turning a bright red color, and still Gordon keeps going until finally Castiel's legs give out and he falls to the ground. The spray hits him in the face and on reflex he brings his arms up to block it. 

Gordon growls and stamps over to Castiel, grabbing a fistful of hair and pulls him around. Castiel struggles against his grip, holding onto his hand in his hair. "Oh no you don't, Cinderella. Make a peep and your friend there will end up with more than a bruised face." Castiel's efforts slow and lets himself go limp. 

"Don't listen to him, Cas. If you want to fight, go for it. I can take care of myself." His conversation with Castiel last night drift into his mind. Castiel had felt distressed that he hadn't fight, that he had just given in. And that somehow made him felt like he deserved it. It's not a good feeling, submitting. In a way, it feels like you're giving them permission. That you'd said yes. 

Gordon turns to cock his eyebrows at him. "Oh, you've got yourself a hero complex, Dean-o? Well, I certainly have the remedy for that." He nods at Leo, who smirks and crack his knuckles. 

"It's my turn," he says, his nasal voice in complete contrast with his body and built. Dean glowers at him and prepares himself for the punch he knows is coming. "Bite me," Dean taunts. 

"No, please. Stop." A low gravelly voice sounds from somewhere from the floor. "I'll do whatever you say, just please. Stop." Castiel is speaking from his place on the floor. Dean cranes his neck to look. Castiel is staring up at Gordon, a broken look on his face. His heart cracks a little. 

"Cas," he warns. "You don't have to do that." Castiel turns to look at him, anger evident in his eyes before he lets them land on Sam. Dean turns to his side and what he sees breaks his heart even more. Sam still has his eyes close but he now biting down onto his lip and is shaking his head. They stare back at each other, the silent communication is enough to silent Dean. 

Castiel turns back to face Gordon. "Please," he begs. Gordon contemplates his request, eying Castiel with hunger. 

"How can I resist it when you ask so nicely?" He cups Castiel's face in his hand and rubs his thumb over the day old bruise there. "Hot damn angel, but you beg so pretty for me. My little fallen angel." He lets go of Castiel's face and motions for Leo to stand back. "Lie down on your stomach, whore," Gordon orders.

Dean's world shatters as he watches Castiel lowers himself onto the floor on his belly. He's helpless. There's nothing he can do. Castiel doesn't want him to do anything. All he can do is sit and stare as the love of his life get tortured and humiliated. Tears spring into his eyes. 

"Lift your ass up, Castiel." 

Castiel starts to shake violently and begins to pull his knees up under himself. He turns his head to face Dean. Their eyes meet and for a moment, they're one; a thousand words being exchanged even when neither of them says anything at all. Castiel gives him a small smile, the one he fell in love with and he breaks. Tears fall down his cheeks. Close your eyes, he mouths. 

And Dean does even as Gordon shoves Castiel's knees further apart with his foot. Castiel doesn't want him to watch. So he won't watch no matter how much he want to be with him in this. For some reason, it feels like if he watches, they're going through this together. Now, it seems like he'd abandoned Castiel on his own to face the horror. But this is what Castiel wants, and he going to honor it.

The roar of the spray starts up and Dean squeezes his eyes tigher. It goes on and one and it feels like hours to Dean but is probably only a few minutes before the sound of footsteps breaks the continous stream. He almost jump out of his skin when he hears Castiel screams; he almost snaps his eyes open. Breathing coming in panic pants, he cocks his head trying to sense what's happening. Castiel's cry has died down but the spray hadn't. It sounds as loud as ever, smacking into flesh.

There's a whimper and after awhile the spray shuts off. Dean slumps back into his seat. He hadn't realized he'd been pulling against the tie-rips, straining towards Castiel. There are more footsteps and then- 

"Look at that hole, all puckered up red and shiny just for me." Dean's heart thumps with anger as he clenches his fists. A slap echoes through the room, and he grits his teeth. 

He doesn't know what happens for the next ten minutes or so because apart from the steady drip drip of water, everything is quiet. But he knows better than to think Gordon had left them alone because he can still hear Castiel's pain breathing and Gordon's excited ones. They're soft but it's still distinguishable. Then suddenly-

"No, please..." Castiel begs. His voice is hoarse and raspy. 

And Dean, he really wants to keep his silent promise but he can't. Not after hearing the broken way Castiel had begged. He opens his eyes. And he instantly wishes he hadn't. 

The scene in front of him is not what he had expected. Gordon is on one knee between Castiel's spread legs. Castiel is still on the floor, his head down ass up. Gordon has three fingers inside Castiel and is thrusting them in and out roughly, without a care for the person it belongs to. At first sight, it would appears that Gordon is stretching Castiel out but then he notices something bobbing between Castiel's thighs and he understands.

Without his permission, he starts to beg. "Stop it! Stop, please. It's enough. Please..." he begs, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Please... Just stop. I beg you, please. Stop..." he cries. But no one pays him any attention, all eyes on Castiel, darkened with lust. 

Upon hearing his voice, Castiel buries his head in his arms. Dean knows he'd screwed up then. He'd made thing worst for Castiel. It's not enough that Gordon is trying to make Castiel come on his fingers, but then Dean has to watch him come undone from his own rape. He can understand if Castiel never wants to talk to him again. Why the fuck hadn't he listened?

The sound of Gordon's assault fills the room as he gets rougher and rougher. Castiel is trembling from head to toe now as he tries to keep his orgasm away. He knows Gordon is deliberately hitting Castiel's prostate with every thrust in. Castiel is wriggling and squirming now, unable to keep still any longer. Gordon slaps his hands on his hips and holds tight, increasing the speed of his thrust. 

"Please... I don't- Do whatever you want with me but please not this. Please..." Castiel begs fervently as he lift his head an inch above his arms. Dean can see tears pouring from his eyes and blood on his lips. "Don't-" He moans out loud then, slumping down and hiding his face in the nook of his arms. 

His shoulders are shaking, and Dean can tell that Castiel is sobbing freely now. He's unable to stop his body from reacting to the stimulant. All he can do is lay there helpless as his body betrays him.

Dean can't take it anymore. He feels broken inside out. He helpless as he watches the love of his life is being tortured and abused. This will break him. And when it does, it'll be his fault. He brought Castiel here. Castiel is the one who took the burnt of the tortures. Yeah, he got the shit beat out of him. But bruised ribs and broken skin can heal but something like that will leave a permanant scar behind. 

Dean will cry more if he has any tears left. But he's so wrung out, so emotionally drained that he feels it physically. He is lightheaded; his body feels weak and wrung out. There's no strength left in him. He's like a marionette whose puppeteer had decided to cut off his strings. Now, he's a heap on the floor, feeling too much but unable to do anything about it. He can't imagine how Castiel must be feeling right now. 

A long low groan fills the room as Castiel spills all over the floor. String after string of come paints the cement underneath him. Gordon lets out a whoop of triumph, pulling his fingers out of Castiel's red and stretched hole. He smacks Castiel's rear leaving behind a red handprint in it's place. 

"There you go, angel. Coming untouched with only my fingers in you," he praises. "We got ourselves a real slut here, boys!" He beams at Spike and Leo and the two Hardy boys who had been watching the rape with their hands down their pants. "Come here." He motions for the others to come over. Gordon grabs Castiel by his hair again and drags him up. Castiel is limp in his hands, blue eyes unstaring and his face blank. 

"Here, come on the slut's face. I bet he likes it," he sneers. "Don't you, whore? You're going to eat every drop of come like a good little cumslut that you are. You hear me?" Using his grip on Castiel's hair, he shakes him roughly. "You hear me?!"

Castiel nods, eyes still glazed over. But Gordon seems satisfied. He holds up Castiel's face as one by one the men jerk off on his face. By the time the second to last one zips up his pain, Castiel's face is painted in white stripes of come. Some of them got caught in his hair and clings to his eyelids. Castiel blinks as a dollop of come run down his cheek and drips down his neck.

Spike is standing in front of Castiel now, jerking off furiously. "Open that mouth wide," he pants. Castiel obeys silently, and Dean can't look anymore. He can't stomach the blank look on Castiel's face as Leo comes in his mouth. It's like he's not even here with them anymore. Dean has never been more scared in his life. Please, Cas. Don't break now. 

"Swallow," Spike demands. Dean can't bring himself to watch, so he turns to look at Sam instead. And he feels the guilt he'd been harboring ever since he kidnapped Castiel from the hospital resurfaces. He had been selfish. He wants to save his brother and in exchanged for that, he sacrifices Castiel. He's worst than Lucifer. Because he'd promised Castiel, made him believed that he wouldn't use him and what did Dean end up doing? He used him. 

"Good boy, now eat up all the come on the floor too. Ah ah, I want you to lick it up."

Dean wishes Gordon wouldn't put up a string of commentary on what he's doing to Castiel because he's done. He's so done. He wants not to feel anything, to be empty and hollow inside, but he can't. Because damn he's still feeling too much. Everything hurts and it feels like he's on an emotional high. And if it doesn't stop soon, he thinks he might just go into overdrive.

"Tie him up," someone says. He can't even identify these voices anymore. Everything feels like it's too much. Too heavy. Too loud. Too bright. His body is shutting down. A body lands at his feet. And he's slammed back down to earth like a meteorite. His pupils dilated and he sees Castiel lying on the floor at his feet. His arms are bound behind his back and his legs are tied together. He's lying on his side with his face tilted towards Dean.

Time seem to stop as he stares into those blue eyes. But instead of staring back at him, Castiel is looking right through him. His lack of emotion and recognition scares Dean to hell and back. His heartstrings twinge as he suddenly finds himself aching with a vengeance. He aches for the little nuances on Castiel's face that will tell exactly what he feels at that time. Castiel is like an open book and Dean is well versed in Cas-language. 

Castiel used to be so emotive, so warm, filled with life but is now all Dean is seeing is a whole lot of nothingness. Dull, muted, dead. He's looking into dead eyes. From far away, he can hear the sound of the door closing and laughter dying away but he doesn't give a shit. All he knows is that they're alone now. He wants to call out Castiel's name but finds that he doesn't have the courage to. A tear falls from his eyes and lands on top of Castiel's cheek. 

One second passes and nothing. Two seconds, three seconds. Nothing. The seconds tick by until finally, Castiel blinks. His eyes focus and Dean's heart thumps in his chest as they zero in on him. He watches as Castiel's pupil widen and his throat bobs. "Dean?" Castiel rasps. 

"Yeah, Cas. I'm here. We're here." He looks over to Sam who still has his eyes close, tear tracks staining his sweet face. "Sammy, you can open your eyes now." Castiel blinks again and glances over at Sam. Sam opens his eyes slowly as if afraid of what he's going to see. 

"Hello, Sam." 

"Cas..." Sam starts to cry, quiet held in sobs. 

"Hey, don't cry. It's okay. I'm fine. See? I'm tied up. Just like you." Castiel soothes, his voice still a croaky and brittle but steady.

Sam puts his brave face on and smiles at Castiel, his dimples showing. Dean has never been more proud of his brother. He is so brave, trying to be strong for Castiel when Dean feels like he's coming apart at the seams. Even Castiel manages to return Sam's smile. Everyone is so much stronger than he is. 

"Did they hurt you bad, Cas?" Sam asks.

"Castiel shakes his head. "I'm fine, Sam."

"You're so brave! I want to be brave like you, Cas but I'm scared," Sam is saying in a small voice. Castiel looks like he wants to reaches out but can't so he settles for shifting a little so he can face Sam properly. He takes a few deep breathe from the effort, and there's a slight tremor in his body. He must be freezing. And he's still in his wet shirt. The sun is going down soon and it's going to be cold in the room in no time. Castiel is already vulnerable from his previous injuries and if he catches a fever... Shit.

"We're going to protect you, Sam. Dean and I. We won't let anything bad happens to you. Right, Dean?" Castiel is looking at Dean expectantly. It takes Dean a moment or two to find his voice. When he does, he turns to Sam and plasters on a reassuring smile.

"Yeah buddy. Don't you worry a thing. No one is going to touch a hair on your head. I'll fight them for it. I promise." Sam doesn't look reassured instead he looks terrified. 

"No, Dean. I don't want you to fight," he whispers. He stares at Dean then, his big hazel eyes sad. It's then that he remembers how he must look right now. He still can't feel half his face and his right brow feels stiff like it's caked in dried blood. Okay, so he must be scaring Sam right now. Way to go, Dean!

"Yes, Dean. It was foolish of you to taunt them. We need to buy time, and we will not get it if you keep looking for fights," Castiel admonishes. "Promise Sam you won't do it anymore." Oh boy, he's sneaky. Castiel continues to stare at him, and when he turns to look at Sam and sees his anticipatory face, he gives in. 

"Okay. Fine. I promise," he huffs out.

"What do you promise? Be clear." Dean glares at Castiel, half-heartedly as he continues. "I promise I won't go looking for a fight. There. Are you happy?" Castiel nods then turn to Sam.

"See, Dean promised. And you know Dean doesn't break his promises. So don't worry. We'll protect you, but we will do it the smart way. Okay, Sam?"

Dean is biting the inside of his cheek. Castiel had seen through his plan to divert Gordon and his men's attention onto himself. And now he'd inadvertently gotten Dean to promise not to do so. It's mind blowing how protective Castiel is of him and Sam. And how obtuse he is toward Dean's need to do the same for him; he doesn't understand. 

Sam at least looks not quite so scared anymore and is, in fact, drooping a little. He must be exhausted after the day he had. Dean knows he is. It's probably dinner time too though Dean can't be sure. "Go to sleep, Sammy. We'll keep an eye out for you," he says in the motherly tone he adopted when he tries to coax Sam to sleep. Sam blinks sluggishly at Dean and nods. 

"Okay. I'm tired. Goodnight, Dean. Goodnight, Cas," he slurs. 

"Goodnight, Sam," Castiel replies, closing his eyes as well. 

"Night, Sammy. Sweet dreams," he says. He watches as Sam's head drop forward and soon enough, he can hear the tell tale snores letting him knows that Sam is fast asleep. Letting out a soft sigh, he looks down at his feet. Castiel looks to be sleeping, and he isn't sure if he should wake him up or not. They need to talk. And Castiel can't go on much longer with that wet shirt on. He'll catch a death. 

As he sits there debating what to do, Castiel opens his eyes. They stare at each other for awhile in silence, just breathing. Then a shiver runs through Castiel, and he coughs. 

"Cas, you're going to catch a cold like this." Castiel keeps quiet. Dean glances around. Their spot is relatively dry but still it's not going to be enough. "Cas, I'm going to topple over okay? Then I need you to face away from me and shuffles back to me. It'll be like I'm the big spoon, and you're the little spoon. And don't tell Sammy I said this, but we can cuddle. My body heat will keep you warm at least. Can you do that?"

Castiel doesn't answer, just keeps staring at him. "Cas?" His blue eyes waver and he look away, nodding. "Okay, I need you to move a little further away so that I don't accidentally squash you when I topple over. Okay?" Castiel nods again and shuffles a little to his left, away from Dean. "Good, good. Okay, here goes nothing."

Dean is getting a little unnerved at how quiet Castiel is being after his short conversation with Sam. But he ignores it in order to focus on what he's about to do. Taking a deep breath, he leans as far forward as he can, trying to get his hand up and over the back of the chair. He couldn't fall over just yet or risk crushing his arms. The angle is awkward and Dean almost dislocated his shoulder before he manages to slip his hands through.

Panting, he then starts to move from right to left. He repeats the motion, putting more force each time. Then, with one final swing he crashes into his side right next to Castiel, landing with an oomph. He takes a moment to orient himself and sneaks a glance at Sam, relief to find that he's still asleep. Sam has always been a heavy sleeper. Turning back to Castiel, he whispers, "Come here, Cas." 

Castiel stares at him a little while longer then turns around, lying down on his side in front of Dean. Slowly, he shuffles backward until his back is right up against Dean's, bending his knees so that he fits snugly against him. The position isn't very comfortable for Dean since one of his feet is hanging in the air, tied to the other end of the chair's leg.

But then he hears Castiel sighs and leans back into Dean's warmth. And yeah, that is worth any numb spots he might have come morning. He shuffles closer until Castiel's damp hair is poking his face. Not that he minds. He wants to be as close to Castiel as he can get.

They lay like that, the exhaustion of the day settling into their bones. Dean's breaths even out onto the drying tuff of hair in front of him; his heartbeats slows down. Closing his eyes, he cherishes every rise and fall of Castiel's chest and breathes in time with him. Inhale. Exhale. In. Out. Dean thought they're going to fall asleep like this when Castiel speaks.

"We survived the first round," he says without emotion.

"Yeah," he agrees not knowing what else he can say. There's a short pause and then, "Do you think any different of me?" Castiel asks, his voice wobbly. Dean shifts as he tries to catch Castiel's expression. Is that what Castiel is worried about? That somehow Dean thinks differently of him because of what he had seen done and be done to him? Hell no. 

"No, Cas. Jesus," he starts. When Castiel doesn't reply, he adds. "Cas, can you turn over and look at me? I want to see your face when I tell you this." He waits but the body in front of him doesn't move. His heart thumps painfully in his chest the longer the moment stretches on. 

Then, Castiel starts to wriggle in place. He flips himself onto his back and stares at the ceiling for awhile before he turns onto his side and faces Dean. The blank expression is gone. In its place now is a wretched look. Castiel looks gutted; his face is so sad, and there are tears in his eyes and tear tracks on his face. Castiel wouldn't meet his eyes, staring instead somewhere below them. "I'm disgusting," he says, voice flat. 

"Cas, you're not-"

"I am," he intercepts fiercely. "Didn't you see what I let them do to me? I even got off on it." Tears spill down those blue eyes, and Castiel is once again looking anywhere but at Dean. "I'm fucked," he says, staring brokenly at Dean before breaking into one of the worst laughs he had heard coming from Castiel's mouth. He keeps laughing, shoulder trembling, eyes crinkling, but there's no mirth or happiness in his eyes. Just hopelessness. 

"You know, after the first few minutes of them force-feeding me their come, I actually blacked out," he huffs out laughing. "I don't remember anything after that. I don't remembered being tied up. The next thing I saw was you. And it was like a slap in the face." The laughter had died to give way to despair. "I don't know how much more of this I can take before I finally crack," he confesses without infliction. 

Dean wishes he could have the use of his arms because he wants to wraps Castiel into them and gives him a tight hug. But he can't so he goes for the next best thing. "Cas," he calls trying to get Castiel to really look at him again. When he doesn't, he repeats his name until blue eyes find him.

"The only disgusting thing I saw today is the things done to you, Cas. Not you. You- You were so brave." Castiel snorts. "Don't you dare. Cas, you faced down these men like you said you would with strength I can't possibly begin to imagine. You protected us. We're all alive because of you. So please, don't. Don't let what they did break you, Cas."

"Don't you see what they're doing here? They're trying to break you. They already succeed to do so physically but don't let them break you mentally too, Cas. You're too strong for that. You came even when you don't have to. Even when you know what's going to happen. Do you know how ashamed I feel at that?"

Castiel looks like he wants to interrupt but Dean doesn't give him a chance. "You have such a kind heart, and I don't get why all these bad things happen to you because you deserve so much better. You care about people, and you put others ahead of yourself. I don't know many who would do that, Cas. So please, believe me when I say this. You're not disgusting. You're the most generous person I know, and I can't let you get away with thinking so little about yourself. Please, Cas. I beg you. Believe me. Please..."

Dean has never felt this way before; the need to convince so bad, desperation is spilling out of him in waves. He needs Castiel to listen and knows how much he means to Dean and how good a person he is. It's a grave atrocity to Dean for Castiel to believe otherwise. 

Tears continues to pour down his face onto the floor as Castiel takes in what he'd said. He lays his head on the floor as he sobs. Dean aches to hold him, kiss him, anything to stop that heartwrenching sobs. 

"You saved us, Cas," he says as tears leak down his face. "Please, just stay with me. Lucifer is going to come soon. Please stay strong. For me. For us. Please. We're a family. We need you. I need you," he confesses. When Castiel doesn't look up, Dean's voice breaks. "C-Cas?" 

He stares at the mop of dark hair when he hears a broken, " _Dean_ ," and then Castiel is looking up. His face is devastated. "I cannot stand for you to see me like that. I know you've seen worse, but that was before. Now, I don't want you to see me that way."

Dean is confused. "What way?"

Castiel huffs out a laugh again. "The way I spread my legs for them? The way I let them use my holes? I don't want you to see me like that. I don't... It makes me feel dirty, sullied, unworthy. I can't even bring myself to look you in the eyes now. And it hurts so much because I never want not to be able to look at you, Dean!" he cries as he breaks down completely. "And I hate that they made me feel this way. I hate it!" Castiel struggles onto his back and turns his back to him leaving Dean to stare helplessly at tousled hair. 

In his current emotional state, Castiel wouldn't be able to hear anything Dean had to say. Feeling powerless but still wanting to comfort, he shuffles the few inches closer with his upper body and nuzzles his head on Castiel's shoulder. Then, he kisses him on the neck. The tremors on Castiel's body subsides, and Dean pushes up onto his elbow and continues kissing up his scruffy jaw and stops at his ear.

By then, Castiel has stilled, though he can still hear the faint sniffling. He nudges his nose at his ears, and when he feels Castiel responds to his touches, he smiles. He keeps doing the same thing, kissing his neck, his jaw, his ear until he relaxes. Then, he put his mouth close to Castiel's ear and whispers, soft and gentle. 

"I love you. And I care about you. I know you find that hard to believe sometimes. I do, too. You're too good for me, Cas." Castiel shifts but he plows on.

"It's not up to you to decide whether you're worthy or not of my love. I'm the one to determine that. And I love you, Castiel Novak. No matter how much you try to refuse it or deny it, I won't stop loving you. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. Then you wouldn't have to worry or feel the need to be ashamed. You're beautiful, Cas, and I love you," he whispers.

Even as Castiel lies there unmoving and unresponsive, Dean knows he's listening. Hears it in the way his breath hitches every time he utters the words 'I love you'. So he keeps saying it over and over again in Castiel's ear, hoping against hope that the man would know that to be true.

Dean doesn't know when they had both fallen asleep but when he wakes up, Castiel is snoozing against him. And there's drool on Castiel's t-shirt. He licks his lips, squinting against the overhead lights wondering what had woken him. Castiel's hair tickles his nose, and he shuffles closer, smiling. He rests his lips against Castiel's neck and lets his breathing lulls him back to sleep.

He's almost asleep again when he thought he hears something. A light rustle, like the wind blowing against a small hole. He stills, wondering if he had misheard it. Then, he heard it again. A soft sigh or an exhale. He pushes himself up on his elbow. His eyes search the darkness outside their circle for any movement, his heart thudding in his chest.

After a few minutes of silence, his heart rates slowly returns to normal. He brushes it off as a breeze. Or just the building settling. It _is_ old. As he lies back down, getting comfortable against the warm body in front of him, he gets the eerie feeling that someone is watching him. The hair at the back of his neck tingles.

But by then, Dean is too far gone to question it. He's so tired, sleepy and exhausted; he can hardly keep his eyes open. Nuzzling into the warmth that is Castiel, Dean lets himself falls back to sleep.


	22. Chapter 22

It's sometime past 3 am when Lucifer and Michael arrive at the factory. The night sky is blanketed by thick dark clouds, blotting out the pinpricks of stars and the moon. Without the moon, the darkness is all consuming. The temperature had dropped significantly. The heat from the day replaced by a tingly crisp air, prickling at their nose and fingers.

They had drove here in Michael's car which they had parked a mile away, just in case the sound of their approach carries into the night. They rather not take any chances. Which is why, Lucifer is now on foot in the wide outdoor and shivering in his less than ideal outerwear. Since he hadn't foreseen their impromptu 'getaway,' he hadn't packed. Now he's stuck in his threadbare t-shirt and leather jacket. 

The wind is starting up too, billowing against their face. He hunches up his shoulder and stuffs his glove-clad hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. It's not obvious at first but as minutes pass, Lucifer can feel his muscles stiffening up from how tensed he is. From the cold. Not what they're about to do.

It had taken them awhile to plan their next move. First, it was not easy to get their hands on the blueprints of the abandoned building. Smiths and Sons Auto Restorative had outsourced their architectural design to an outside company that actually have a good security system. It took Michael a good thirty minutes to hack into their files and find the blueprint they're looking for. 

Once they've got the blueprint, figuring out where Gordon might hold the children is like puzzle work. Since the factory is large and has more than enough large chambers that qualified as a holding cell, they first had to identify all the possible choices. The key is finding rooms that allowed utter and complete control. One way in and out. No windows. Barren.

They've shortlisted it down to two rooms; the car paint room and the store room. The chamber they used to spray paint the cars is a sealed up room and the only way in and out is through a garage door that can only be opened using a switch located outside the chamber or a remote control. 

As for the store room, it's located at the far end of the building. The areas that surrounded it are easy to cover. With only a few men stationed at a specific location, Gordon is able to put the place under tight surveillance. It would be hard to sneak in without them noticing. These are the two option with which they will begin their reconnaissance. 

But of course, it wouldn't be just recon tonight. They had agreed to go for the kill if the opportunity presents itself. Lucifer has his Glock with him but other than that. Nada. Just his Glock and a silencer in his jacket pocket. Lucky for him, Michael came prepared. Lucifer now has a Ka-Bar combat knife at the small of his back and a Beretta M9 in his ankle holster as backup courtesy of Michael Angelo. Of course, he had to haggle like a maniac for them but who cares about that. 

"So what's the plan again?" he asks. "Refresh my memories for me."

The gravels crunch beneath their shoes as they walk towards the building. Frogs croaks in the distant joining in on the racket the crickets are making. It's not like he forgets what their plan is, but he just want to be reassured that they're both on the same page.

Michael sighs and in a monotonous tone, he repeats. "We go in and check out the car paint room first since it's closer to the entrance. We approach stealthily, and we kill on sight. Including Walker, there's only five of them. We can take them out easy if they're not alerted to our presence." 

"If they're not there, we proceed to the storage room which will be a challenge. We won't be able to stealth our way in, and we also can't go in hard and heavy, so we're going to need to lure them out. We think that they might leave someone in the room with the children. So when we go in, our first priority is disabling the person in there before freeing them. Did I miss anything?" he finishes turning to fixes Lucifer with an unimpressed look. 

"Sounds about right," he nods. "And what if we aren't in time? What if there are more than one person in the room? And they hold one of the kids as hostage?" 

Michael's face turns serious. "It's a chance we got to take."

"I don't like it."

"Well, neither do I, but it doesn't seem like we have much choice, do we?"

"Yes, we do." Lucifer stops in his tracks. Michael frowns at him. "What do you mean?"

"Gordon doesn't know about you. He's expecting only me. So why not give him that? Let me go in alone. And if it's a trap, at least, I'll know you're out there. That's our element of surprise. I'll be ready for you on the inside. I can make sure the kids are out of harm's way."

Michael doesn't say anything at that, but he doesn't stop staring at Lucifer. His blue eyes are dark in the non-moon night, and his expression is hard to read. Lucifer's heart is beating erratically. He doesn't know why he came up with this idea. It's suicidal. 

"You trust me enough to go through with that plan?" Michael's voice breaks the dead silence that they'd fallen into. 

"Why shouldn't I?" he ask acting nonchalant. Michael doesn't answer. He smiles then a bitter grimace. "Oh yes, I almost forgot. You tried to kill me, right? I shouldn't put my life in the hands of someone who will give it up in a minute. And for what? A sum of money?" He laughs then. "How much was my life worth, Michael? I didn't even get the chance to ask."

Michael is quiet. He just stands there, looking hurt and takes it. Lucifer can't stand it any longer. All the hurt he'd been harboring the past six months bubbling to the surface. "How much?! The sum you're willing to kill me for. Was it worth it?" he bites out. Still no answers. He breaks. "You know, I may have survived that day. But you killed something in here," he confesses pointing to his heart. Without saying another word, he turns and walks away. 

He knows it's stupid to drag it all out in the open right before a mission. It's not good for their mindset. It disrupts their focus and throws off their game. Hell, it's screwing with his head as it is and his heart feels heavy. All he knows is that he's hurt, and he can't keep up the pretense. He thought he can ignore the pain, bury it, but he can't. It's obvious now.

"Luke." One word. Just that one word said in a quiet voice and Lucifer stops. He doesn't turn around too afraid of what he would see. 

The atmosphere is tense, the air thickens around them. Michael doesn't say anything else except for that fucking nickname he gave Lucifer. The seconds ticks by. An owl hoots in a distance and Lucifer shakes his head and resumes walking. The small hope he harbored in his chest dies out with Michael's silence. He had hoped that Michael had a reason for what he'd done; that he'll be able to explain himself. But Michael had nothing to say. 

A hand reaches out to stop him and then Michael is standing in front of him. His face is gutted as he says, "There's a reason I did it." He doesn't look at Lucifer as he says it. Instead, he's looking at where he's holding onto his arm. 

"Oh yeah? What? The money?" he sneers. 

"That was never the reason, Luke!" Michael cries his blue eyes flying up to meet him. He watches in disbelief and shock as those blue eyes start to fill with tears before him. He's frozen silent at the sight of them rolling down Michael's face, unable to do anything but stares. 

Michael's face breaks and he looks down, hiding his face. "That was never the reason..." he says, shaking his head. When Lucifer doesn't say anything, he continues. "I was requested at the headquarter by my superior. It's not uncommon. It happened when a client requested your services specifically, so I wasn't suspicious. Then, Naomi handed me a file with your name on it. Imagine my shock," he huffs. 

Lucifer had never been to headquarters. Most of the time, they used the organization internal connection to access their servers. It's all very hands off. Everything works online much like an escort service. The organization acts as a facilitator between the client and their agents. The clients contact the organization with a name and 30% advance payment of the hit. The organization will do the research and compile a target file. They will upload it online where their agents can have access to them. Once an agent clicks Accept, the file is removed from the listing, and he or she will be responsible for the kill. Some cases have a deadline, some not. It depends per case file. A fine will be given if proof of death is not sent in within the requested timeframe to discourage agents from hogging case files.

During the past two years in which he had worked with Michael, they had doubled his kill rate. At first, they were worried that it will raise a red flag with the organization. But after three months of inactivity on their side, they decided it was safe. Lucifer had wanted to join the organization as one of their agents, but Michael opposed the idea. He never said it outright but his hesitation to take him into the fold made it obvious. Lucifer hadn't wanted to push. Knowing Michael, he would have a good reason for it. So they kept doing what they did, and Lucifer flew under the radar. 

"Naomi knew of our- partnership," Michael continues holding out a hand to stop any retort he might have. "That was _after_ your name came into her hands. She found out during the research. The organization doesn't take lightly to outsiders. Especially those with law enforcement or military background. That's why I never brought you in." Michael looks away as he says this, his hands clenching by his side. "My treachery will not go unpunished."

"What did they do to you?" he asks, voice hoarse. 

Michael smiles bitterly. "Nothing that you needed to know." Lucifer frowns and despite himself, feels his heart grows concern for the man in front of him. "The point is, Naomi doesn't trust me. To prove my loyalty, she wanted me to take the job." 

"And of course you did."

"It's not like that. I had to! If I don't, they will kill me right then and there. And then they will come for you! I can't let that happen."

"No one wants to die, Michael. Self-preservation is a strong motivation."

"Fuck you! I wasn't scared for myself. It was you I was afraid for!" 

"What the hell are you talking about? You shot me!"

"Because that's the only way! Naomi had me set up a meeting with you. She was there when I called and asked to meet at the pier." Michael's eyes watered as he continues. "You never suspected a thing. You trusted me." Lucifer averts his eyes unable to hold the intensity of Michael's gaze. "She sent one of her best to tail me. And if he saw me move out step out of line, he won't hesitate to shoot you and then me."

"So you chose to kill me," Lucifer declares looking up. 

Michael fixes him with a piercing stare. "Have you ever known me to miss a kill shot?" he asks. Simple and short. And that's his answer. All this time, the answer is staring him in the face. But he hadn't wanted to see it, hadn't wanted to believe it. Every time he woke up from a nightmare and clutches his beating heart, wondering why he's still alive. Because Michael _never_ misses a kill shot. Ever.

Michael smiles, a self-hatred smile that doesn't suit him at all. "I'm not a religious man. Hadn't been since I was a teenager, but I prayed. Every day I prayed for you to have survived. You fell into the water and even if I knew the bullet just missed your heart, I was afraid the ocean will claim you. Every day that passed without news of a drifter is a good day for me. And everyone that popped up still makes my heart stops beating sometimes."

"When I saw you at the hospital, I couldn't believe my eyes. You're alive. I wanted to greet you, but I lost my courage. I don't know how you would react and maybe I'm a coward but I couldn't face you being angry with me or hated me. So I ran. But I couldn't keep myself away. I had to come back. I miss you, Luke. It's not the same after you're gone," he confesses eyes bright. 

"I thought-." He couldn't bring himself to continue, but Michael seems to understand what he's trying to say. He nods but keeps quiet. Lucifer takes a deep breath and tries to steady himself. Michael said he missed him. He ought to say something back. But what? Everything seems too revealing, and he's not thinking straight enough to do this right. He needs time to digest this. But one question still bugs him. "But what happened to you? I mean, if this was some sort of test and they didn't find my body-"

"Naomi wasn't pleased. But they decided to spare me. Not without repercusssion though." Lucifer wants to ask what it was, but one look at Michael's face tells him that he won't be getting any answers to that question. Also, a bigger part of him is still reeling from the fact that Michael risked his own life to save his. What does this mean? It opens a can of worms that Lucifer doesn't know if he can deal with at the moment. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he nods and hopes his voice doesn't fail him. 

"We'll talk about this later." 

Michael nods and drops his eyes to the ground. He places a hand on Michael's shoulder, half on his neck and squeezes as he waits for the man to look up. When he does, Lucifer stares at him straight in the eyes. "We _will_ talk about this, Michael. You can't just drop off a bomb like that and expects me not to react." 

Dark blue eyes search his face as if trying to gauge his sincerity. Lucifer peels back the mask and lets himself be read. This is the most honest he'd been in any relationship. He puts himself out there and let himself be vulnerable. If Michael can do it, so can he. When Michael finds whatever it is he's looking for, he smiles and nods. 

Returning his smile, they head down the long gravel road together, their shoulder brushing. The night is cooling down now, and their breaths puff out in front of them. It takes them another fifteen minutes before they come into sight of the building. It looms ahead, a dark shadow against the night sky. It stands in disarray. Some of the windows are crack, some broken. The doors are hanging from its hinges. 

Without the moon, the whole landscape is cast in shadows and shrouds with darkness. That could work in their favor. If Walker's men were to stand guard at any one of the windows, it would be harder to spot them in the non-light. They skirt around the edge of the area and darts through ransacked vehicles, always to be sure to keep their back on something solid. They both have their guns out and at the ready as they approach the entrance.

They both flattens themselves against the wall on either side of the door. Lucifer takes a deep breath, feels the frigid air goes into his lungs. When he turns back to Michael, the man is signaling something behind him. He turns heartbeat spiking. Two Harley are standing there, leaned against the wall. Only two. No sight of the van Dean mentioned. He looks to the ground. There is evidence of tire tracks leaving the area. 

Turning back to Michael, he signs that he'll go in first. Michael nods and Lucifer enters, swift and quick his arms out as he secures the area. He pokes his head back out and indicates for Michael to follow. They both walk into a large open area that probably serves as the reception or showroom. Glasses littered the floor. When he glances up, he sees a glass ceiling. Glass panes crisscrossed throughout the entire floor. 

It's dark inside even with the glass roof, shadows lurking everywhere. Still, they keep to the wall, edging along until they reach the corresponding hallway. Their footsteps are muffled, and Lucifer thinks it's because the place is covered in dust. If he squints hard enough, he's able to see the disturbance in the dust. Footprints littered the floor from the door towards the hallway. 

They look at each other, silently communicating before Lucifer heads down the hallway. If he remembers the blueprint correctly, this corridor will end in two directions. To their right is the restorative part that includes the car paint room. And on their left is the storage area. Their decision is made up for them when they see the footprints turning left. Damn, he was hoping Walker would have chosen the car paint room.

Before they turn left, he moves over to Michael backing himself onto the wall beside him. "Alright, we know the storeroom is at the end of a singular L-shaped hallway. We assume Walker station at least one person at the intersection. If we move in, anyone guarding the door to the storeroom would see what's up," he recaps, his voice a whisper. 

Michael nods showing that he's following. "We can't enter into the first hallway without whoever is at the intersection not to see us. And it's one hell of a long hallway to cover before we can enter the second. Too long for the person not to alert whoever's in the room. Especially not if there are two of them." Lucifer continues. They are silent for a moment while Lucifer scrunches up his head trying to figure a way out of this one. He sighs. "I've got no other ideas. You?"

Michael shakes his head. "Alright then, it's settled. I'm going in first, without you," he specifies. Michael snaps his eyes up at him frowning. "He'll kill you."

"No. A person like Walker, he will want to taunt first. Gloat. Worst he'll do is maimed me. We have time for you to surprise them." When Michael looks like he's about to protest, he adds. "Like you said, I've had worse, I got this."

"There has to be another way," Michael insists.

"Well, I have nothing. And so do you. This is the only way."

"Why are you risking your life like this?"

Lucifer averts his eyes and glances down the hallway. "I caused a lot of hurt and suffering during my time here. I owe it to Castiel to bring him out of this alive. He's innocent." He avoids mentioning the part where he had been using Castiel as Michael's surrogate all along. About all the pain he had inflicted on the boy, both physically and mentally. He feels remorse. 

Staring up at Michael then, he notices the man has been silent for a while now. He doesn't know what's going on in Michael's head but after a moment, he nods. Lucifer smiles and grabs him into a one handed hug. "Just promise you'll come for me?" he whispers into Michael's hair.

They pull back, and Michael is staring at him as if offended and says point blank, "Of course." Lucifer huffs out a small laugh and gets into position. They both will go down the hallway to their right until they reach the L-shaped hallway. Then, Michael will stand back. It seems like no time at all before they arrive, guns held to their chest. 

Lucifer crouches to the ground, his back flat against the wall. He puts out his hand, and Michael presses a tiny mirror onto the palm of his glove. Using the device, he inches it into the next hallway, squinting in the dark to make out the mirror image. There're no windows here, so everything is too dark. The only reason they are able to see anything is because their eyes had finally gotten used to it. It's going to be hard seeing anything in the mirror, but it's worth a shot. And sure enough the man is dimmed enough to be playing with his phone. Bingo.

Pulling the device back in he hands them back to Michael and lifts one finger up. They stare at each other for awhile and then Michael nods. This is it. Out of all the patriotic things he'd done during his days in the force, this feels the most right. This is the right thing to do. If he's going to die tonight, at least it's for the right reasons.

Taking a deep breath, he moves out of his place behind the wall and shoots. The sound is almost silent; the muted whistle the only warning before the body thuds to the ground. Lucifer was already walking as he shot and now that he's in closer range, empties a bullet into the man's skull. Then, he turns the corner and shoots at the movement he sees there. Another body collapses to the ground. There's no one else there. He did it. The man hadn't made a peep. 

He steps up to the man and empties another bullet in his head just to be sure. With his heart pounding in his ears, he places his hand on the door handles and turns. He's in the room the next instant; his arms hold up in front of him as he scans the room. It's dark except for the ring of light in the middle of the room. And inside are Castiel, Dean and Sam.

Putting the Glock down, he strides towards them. Sam is tied up to a chair asleep while Castiel and Dean are both lying on the floor. It would appear that Dean was tied up the same way as Sam except he had tried to escape and had landed on his side. Castiel's is backed up against his torso, and he seems to be missing his jeans. He spots it a few feet away. 

Anger floods his veins as he processes the implication of that. Had they assaulted Castiel again? Can't the boy catch a fucking break? They had to forced themselves to sit through the whole video. He now knows who they're dealing with. The two dead men outside were the Morgan twins, Brady and Harper both 33. They both served time for assault and battery of a minor and grand theft auto. Then there's Leopold Malin, 38. He was arrested for assault with intention to kill and drug possession. Last of all, there's Stanley "Spike" Turner, 27 who served time for possession with intention to sell and indecent exposure to a minor. Birds of the same feathers flock together.

He stuffs the Glock into the back of his jeans and takes out the Ka-Bar combat knife. Holding onto the tie-rips binding Castiel's hands together, he cuts it open with a tug. A loud bang echoes through the room and a sharp pain blossom in his left thighs. "Fuck!" he yells as he collapses onto Castiel groaning in agony. Someone fucking shot him! His eyes search the area where the shot came from only finding pitch black darkness staring back at him. Shit!

There's a strangled cry coming from beneath him. And a second later, movement as Castiel and Dean both starts to wake up. He makes sure to cover both the teens as another shot rings out. This time, it hits him in the right shoulder, the force causing him to spin around and fall onto his back. His head is spinning, and his body is wracked with pain. He clamps a hand over the wound, groaning as he feels blood soaked through his gloves.

Right at that moment, the telltale hiss of a bullet whizzing through air echoes through the room. Then, there's the unmistakable sound of a body slamming into a wall just as he hears a cut-off choke, wet and watery. He snaps his eyes up to the door and squints. The overhead light is too bright; it makes it hard to see outside their circle. It takes him awhile, but he could just make out the outline of a man standing there. Michael!

"Luke!"

Lucifer lifts his head higher, grimacing in pain as relief fills him. But then a sudden thought strikes him. If he can see and hear Michael, so can the others who are bound to still be in this room. He's about to yell for Michael to move away when another shot rings out and Michael thuds to the floor. Then, he really screams.

"Michael! NO!" 

Lucifer scrambles to push himself up but right arm wouldn't support him. It sears in pain every time he puts any weight on it. In his struggle, something falls out of his jean but he pays no attention to it. All he can do is stare at the spot where he saw Michael go down. "Michael?! Answer me please!"

Only silent greets him. Panicked, he rolls over and starts to drag himself across the room. Two shadows move in front of the opened door. He stops and stares as they lean down and drag Michael's body towards him. No, no please. Michael can't be dead. Please don't let him be dead. Not now. Not ever. _Please!_

"Gordon?" One of the men calls as they approach them. "Gordon, where the fuck are you? The twins are dead goddammit! Gordon, fucking answer me you prick! This was your fucking plan!" They loom closer, a big blob of shadow. His heart thumps hard in his chest; the sound loud in his ears. Do not be dead, Lucifer repeats like a mantra. 

Three men enter into the peripheral of the circle. The light shines on their faces, and Lucifer recognizes them as Turner and Malin. His eyes land on Michael, who's being dragged between them. He's unconscious, and blood is seeping out a wound in his chest, right over his heart. Lucifer's heart stops, and he lets out a broken sob. 

"No... No no no no," he chants unable to stop himself, shaking his head in disbelief. Turner and Malin drop Michael onto the floor a few feet from him. Turner has his gun out and is aiming at Michael's head. Panic flares in him. "NO!"

Out of a sudden, Turner's head jerks back and a dark spot appears in the middle of his forehead. Then, the same appears on Malin's. Time seems to stop. Then, they both crumple into a heap on the floor. Lucifer blinks unable to process what just happened. Then, his eyes land on Michael again. With his good arm, he drags himself towards Michael's body. Time seems to slow with every drag. His vision blurs.

He blinks rapidly until his vision clears. He's almost there. With a final pull, he reaches within touching distance of Michael and grabs hold of his arm. He closes the last few inches and pushes himself into a sitting position. His left leg is stretched out in front of him, and his right arm flops limply by his side. He pulls Michael into his lap and cradles his head in his arms. 

Droplet of waters fall onto Michael's face. Lucifer frowns at them before he realizes that he had been crying. Tears stream down his face as he cups Michael's unresponsive face. "Michael?" he calls voice barely above a whisper. No response. "Michael?" he cries louder.

When Michael remains motionless, he bends low and hides his face in Michael's hair. Lucifer breaks down completely then. He cries into the thick wavy hair as he holds tight onto Michael. He sobs and weeps, and he babbles; about what he doesn't know, his voiced muffled.

He had never felt such pain before, nothing physical could even begin to compare. It's like a part of him had been ripped out leaving a gaping hole in its place with such suddenness his body is in shock. He doesn't want to accept it. Can't accept it. Michael can't be dead. He can't! This is not fair. He can't come crashing back into his life, tells him he missed him and then leaves like this. It is so fucking unfair!

He doesn't know how long he stays like this, and he might go on forever if not for the hand on his shoulder. Lucifer lifts his face up and stares blearily, hoping whoever it is will tell him it's going to be okay. That this is just a nightmare and when he wakes up, Michael will still be alive.

Castiel is crouching in front of him with a sorrowful expression on his face. Those blue eyes that had reminded him so much of Michael look pained and sad. "I'm sorry," he whispers in a hoarse voice. Lucifer lets out an anguished cry and lets Castiel pulls him into a hug. Castiel runs a hand up and down his back. He falls into it drawing whatever comfort he could get.

Castiel pulls away, and there are tears in his eyes. He glances down at Michael's body and then slowly, he places a finger at his pulse point. Lucifer waits with bated breath. Why didn't he think to check for a pulse? What kind idiot is he? The seconds tick by and then Castiel snaps his head up, hope shining in his bright blue eyes. Lucifer can't breathe.

"He's still alive," he croaks breaking into a smile. 

Lucifer looks down at Michael and feels his heart soar. Michael is still alive. He's still alive! The sight of blood drenching the front of his T-shirt pulls him back to reality. Okay, they need help. Medical attention. He glances around, and it's then that he catches sight of his Glock in Castiel's hand. The sight jars him, and he jolts back in shock.

Realization hits him hard. Castiel is the one who had shot them; shot the person who's about to put a bullet in Michael's head. Castiel saved them. A rush of gratitude threatens to drown him. He tries to say something, but it appears that his voicebox has decided to crap out on him. 

Castiel searches around in Michael's jeans and pulls out his mobile phone. Belatedly, Lucifer notices that Castiel bottom half is no longer naked. He has his jeans on now and he's handing the phone to Lucifer. "Call for help," he says before he turns to rush back to Dean, who'd just finished cutting Sam loose. 

A loud bang echoes throughout the room and a bullet whizzes through the air right where Castiel would be if he hadn't turned around at that moment. Lucifer spins towards the area where the shot was fired. Gordon. There's another flash of light and another bang. This time the bullet grazes Castiel's left arm and just only misses Lucifer. 

"Get down!" he cries and Castiel dives to the floor. More shots ring out, and Lucifer falls onto his side, wrapping his body around Michael's. "The lights! We're sitting ducks!" he shouts. 

All of a sudden there's a flurry of motion around him. Castiel jumps up and dives outside the circle. In the middle of the room, Dean jumps into the air and hits the hanging lamp with his hands. The lamp swings and the circle of light follows. Dean had pushed the spot towards where Gordon was, the light casting its beam into the far corner.

What he sees almost makes him want to puke his guts out. Gordon is lying on the floor in the corner, clutching at his face. His nose is blown clear off and one of his left eye is torn and bleeding profusely. Trust Michael to be a good shot even when he can't see his mark and can only gauge his position by the flare of Gordon's gun. 

Gordon squeezes off another shot; the gunshot reverberates through the room. He thinks that if it weren't for his injuries, Gordon wouldn't have missed that first time. They're lucky to still be alive. The lamp swings away to the opposite end. There's a flare from Castiel's gun and the sound of a bullet biting into the concrete wall. When the lamp hits the corner again, Gordon is gone. 

Lucifer strains his eyes, scanning the darkness for any motion but it's no use. He had been in the light for too long, his eyes are not adjusting quick enough. All he sees is pure darkness. A groan from somewhere beneath him drags his attention away. The light swings by. Michael is waking up, grunting in pain as he blinks up at Lucifer. Gasping in relief, Lucifer breaks into a smile. 

"Michael," he chokes out as they're plunged into darkness again. "Welcome back to the land of the living." he jokes. He can't believe he's joking right now, but the happiness that soars in his chest at the moment is euphoric. 

"Shit..." Michael groans. Lucifer huffs out a laugh. "Damn right. Fuck, don't you ever do that again!" he demands. 

Michael coughs and attempts to sit up, pressing against Lucifer's as he does so. "You got shot. Are you okay?" Michael asks. His voice is strained as he struggles against Lucifer's grip. The light swings by and he's treated to Michael's concern gaze on him. His face pales further as he takes in the amount of blood around them. 

"I'm fine. It's a clean shot. Bullets went right through," Lucifer is quick to explain. Darkness falls again, and he can feel Michael slumps against him, his body going limp. "What about you?" 

"Not so lucky," he puffs out. They startle when there's a crash nearby. It sounds like someone walked into a chair and toppled it over. Michael tenses in his arms. "Is the threat gone?" he whispers, alert.

"No, Walker is still alive," he hisses even as he scans the room again, following the beam of the light. Something catches his eyes. The door. A silhouette. Based on the height and size, it's Walker. "He's heading out the door," he yells alerting the others. He struggles to get up but he's too weak. He's bleeding out. So is Michael. Defeated, he picks up the mobile phone and dials 911. 


	23. Chapter 23

Castiel's arm stings as he rolls on the floor and crouches, one knee on the cement floor. His arms tremble as he holds the gun out in front of him, aiming in the dark. The lamp is swaying. His eyes track its movement. It's like watching a movie in slow motion. The beam swings nearing the spot where the shot had come from.

Sweat breaks out on his back and temples. He licks his lips, ears straining. He hopes Dean will stay down with Sam. He has zero experience with marksmanship. Castiel had been lucky before with his almost perfect shot at Spike and Leo. He isn't sure if he could pull that off again. He doesn't want to kill them accidentally. 

He swallows. He had just killed two men. Two men were dead because of him. His breathing speeds up, and he blinks harder, trying to get rid of the moisture in his eyes. _He's a murderer._ His hands start to shake violently, and he tightens his grip on them. This is no time to break down. He needs to focus. 

He watches as the beam approaches the corner where Gordon should be. His breaths are coming in short puffs. Sweats are beading into his eyes, and his arms are straining from the weight of the gun. Blood are dripping down his wound, and he can hear the drip of it on the cement floor if he concentrates enough. 

As the light shines into the corner, he sees a pair of jeans-clad feet first. It's followed by a body slumped in the corner. Then, Castiel has to hold in a gasp. His eyes widen, and he takes in the mess that is Gordon's face. The man has a hand against his nose that is no longer there but for a big gape in its place. One of his eyes is torn, and the other good one is staring wildly in front of him.

With the light shining on him now, Castiel knows that he wouldn't be able to see anything. The panic is clear on his face. Gordon has one arm raised in front of him and he starts to shoot at random. 

Panic overcomes Castiel, and before he can think about it, he takes aim and shoots. But before he is able to determine if his shot was good, the beam swings away. Dammit! He keeps his ears prick for any sounds, praying that Dean and Sam are still safe. He could hear mumbling from Lucifer and a new voice. Michael is awake. 

A part of him is relieved but another part of him wants them to shut up, or they'll risk exposing their position. A crash startles him, and he glances around. It sounds near right where he last seen Dean and Sam. His heart calms. They're moving. They're alive. Feeling braver, he scans the room again. Before he catches sight of anything, Lucifer is yelling, "He's heading out the door!"

Snapping his eyes towards it, he's just in time to catch a shadowy figure darting out of sight. He stands up lowering the gun. "Dean?" he calls. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Cas. So is Sam. You?"

"I'm alright. Stay here. I'm going after Gordon," he says as he edges towards the door.

"Wait, Cas!"

"It's okay, Dean. He's injured. We can't let him escape. He would never let us live in peace." Dean is quiet at that. "Don't worry. I'll be back soon," he promises. 

Without waiting to hear further, he crouches by the door and rolls out pointing the gun in front of him. No Gordon. He heaves a sigh of relief but then feels his guts twist as he sees the bodies on the floor. He's glad for the darkness. At least it obscures his sight so that he doesn't have to see their unstaring eyes. No matter what they did to him, it's still hard to reconcile that with their dead faces.

Standing up, he stands against the wall and slowly edge forward. Untrained as he was in combat skills, even he knows not to expose his back. As he reaches the end of the hallways, he notices the bloody hand print on the wall. He follows it. 

Now that he's alone, and silence surrounds him, his brain is going into overdrive. He can't get Spike and Leo's face out of his head. Their dead eyes and mouths agape like they were caught surprise. He hadn't been thinking then. All he knew was that Lucifer was injured, and they're about to kill Michael. He had acted on instinct.

Lucifer's gun had fallen out of the waistband of his jeans onto his lap. The barrel felt hot against his bare skin. All at once, his senses narrowed down to that one thing. The gun. Without a second thought, he picked it up and took aim. Spike and Leo didn't even see it coming. Then, they're both down lying dead on the floor and Castiel had been stunned. In fact he was so stunned that he sat, stocked still for a long moment he heard Dean calling his name.

He jumped into action then, grabbing the knife Lucifer had dropped to cut the tie-rips around his legs. Once freed, he moved to cut Dean loose as well. Dean hadn't even wait until he's fully free before he's scrambling towards Sam with the knife. Castiel had used that moment to grab his jeans and pulled them on. To be safe, he had took the gun too. 

Lucifer's cry grabbed his attention; the kind of anguish and broken that pulls at your heartstrings. When he turned and saw Lucifer cradled Michael's head in his arms, his heart squeezed. He hadn't been aware of his own injuries, not when confronted with such pain in front of him. Like a moth to a flame, Castiel approached them. Every cry and sob echoed off the walls of the room.

Castiel hadn't known what to feel. He had thought Lucifer wasn't someone capable of emotions, to love, to feel. Castiel had long given up hope Lucifer will reciprocate his feelings because that's the way he is. Dispassionate. Detached. But when he saw the raw emotions etched on Lucifer's face as he held the man in his arms, he realized that no, Lucifer _can_ love. And had loved. His heart belonged to someone else. 

He had remembered feeling sad and relieved at the same time but the more he watched, the sadder he became. What Lucifer must be going through, no one deserved that. No one deserved to have someone they loved torn from their hands before their time. He glanced back at Dean, who's hugging Sam close and kissing his forehead. When Dean looked up and their eyes caught, he can't imagine losing Dean. Life without those smile and bright green eyes will never be the same. 

Before he knew it, he found himself kneeling in front of the crying man. Not knowing what to say, he placed his hand on Lucifer's shoulder as a sign of solidarity. Staring down at Michael, he took in his appearance. Castiel had sensed a feeling of familiarity when he visited the hospital and now he sees why. They sort of look alike. They both have dark hair, and the same sharp features and olive-like pale skin. Remembering blue eyes from the hospital, he realized that they could be brothers. The similarity's almost creepy. 

A loud noise resounded off the all from somewhere ahead of him down the corridor to the right. Heart thumping in his chest, he follows the racket, flattening himself against the wall. What is he doing chasing down Gordon? He's a mad man! And that's the problem isn't it? If Gordon escapes, they'll never feel safe again. They'll never _be_ safe. He'll hunt them down like animals. And it won't be a quick and painless death either. 

Castiel's hands start to shake. No, he's going to torture them, pick and tear at them and play with their mind until there's nothing left but madness. Pure madness driven by desperation, pain, and humiliation. Death would have been a mercy then, but Gordon wouldn't give it to them. He would wait and listen to them beg and laugh. Gordon had already broke him. He reads enough to know that he'd black out and he knows what that means.

He's broken. His psyche is splintering, and it's only a matter of time before he collapses entirely. Another panic attack, another trigger and he'd be gone. He can feel it in his bones. And he has come to accept it. It's fine. But he can't risk the same thing happening to Dean and Sam. They're still whole, complete, intact; brimming with life forces that are so bright it's like looking at the sun.

He swallows, pausing to take a deep breath. No, the only way he's going to keep Dean and Sam alive is to kill Gordon. Gordon has to die. He shudders as tears prickle his eyes. He going to kill a man in cold blood. Completely sober and aware. This is premeditated. And the worst part? He knows he's going to follow through with it. When he stares at his hands in front of him, held close to his chest, he marvels at how steady they are. He's turning into a monster.

Another clatter grabs his attention, and he looks up. With his heart still beating steadily in his chest, he continues down towards the noise. He ends up in an open chamber, wide and spacious. Lights are shining in from above. He glances up. The moon is high and bright in the sky shining through the glass roof. The stars are shining and twinkling at him from above. There's not a single cloud in sight. It's beautiful.

Castiel tears his eyes away from the view and surveys the room. The floor looks like a checkered board. Shadows from the glass panes above blanket the entire area. The dust on the floor is unsettled. A set of footprints that looks like it's been dragged heads towards the middle of the room. He squints ahead and see a dark shape in the distance. It looks to be an abandoned reception desk.

He's still hidden in the shadow at the edge of the room and into the light seems like a stupid thing to do. At his distance, it's enough for him to spot the dotted blood by the footprints. That has to be Gordon. The reception desk seems to be at the far end of the room. He could circle around via the edge, staying close to the wall and the shadows. 

Keeping a firm hold of the colt, Castiel steps out into the room and starts side stepping. He keeps his eyes trained on the counter for any sign of movement. The sound of heavy breathing drifts to his ear as he approaches the object. Sweats drip down the side of his face and into his t-shirt. He tries to be as quiet as possible, but with the dead silence, no matter how soft and slow he goes, Gordon hears him. 

A huff of laughter issues from behind that massive wood panelings. He stops in his tracks. The laughter continues sounding wet and squelchy. Nausea churns in his stomach as he recalls Gordon's disfigured face. A bout of coughs interrupts the laughter. Then-

"Is that you, angel?" Gordon croaks. 

The nickname makes the hair on Castiel's skin stands as tears prick his eyes. It's a nickname his mother had given him before she died. The name used to meant comfort and love but now bears the stains of Gordon's depravity. It's one of the few memories he had of his mother and Gordon had to rip that away from him too.

He clenches his jaws and moves around the counter, hands out and aimed in front of him. He's careful when turning the corner because he knows Gordon would be aiming his gun at him. And sure enough, the barrel of a gun is staring right at him. Gordon is lying in a heap against the solid wood. He has his head tilted up, his good eye on Castiel and right hand on the gun in his lap.

He's no longer covering his face and Castiel has to swallow to keep down the bile from coming up. There's a huge chunk missing where his nose used to be, only the remains of what should be his nostrils are there. The flesh around the area are torn and messy. Even as he watches, something that looks to be dead flesh dribbles from the wounds. His bad eye looks like a tear in his face, a gash. His eyeball is still in its socket but whatever is left of it is steadily bleeding out pus and blood. 

"What are you going to do, Castiel? Kill me?" Gordon rasps. Then, he sniggers blowing more chunks out of his nose. "I saw how you shot Spike and Leo. Didn't take you for a killer, angel. But damn does that sight makes me hard." Gordon grabs at his groin and squeezes them. Castiel's breath hitches. He clenches his jaw as his hands start to sweat and readjusts his grip on the gun. "Does it get you hard too?"

He must have made a face at that because Gordon laughs again. "Don't look so scandalized. I know it made you hard just like I made you hard with just my fingers," he taunts as he lifts two fingers up and makes an obscene gesture. When Castiel remains silent, he slumps back. "You'll learn to like it you know. To kill."

"No, I won't." He doesn't know why he's answering the man, but he feels like he must. 

"Trust me, they all do. I remembered my first kill. The boy was only fifteen. I was seventeen. It was an accident. But the high I feel after the kill, it haunts me at night, and I needed more. Of course, you can't go killing people and not expect to go to jail. So what did I do? I joined the gang. Turns out, there's not as much killing you would think. They don't condone killing unless it's absolutely necessary," he whines.

"But I found a way, didn't I?" Gordon looks up at Castiel then and smiles; the resulting outcome grotesque. "See instead of killing, I inflict pain. Their screams and despair fuel me. The high isn't as satisfactory as killing, of course, but they'll have to do. I know I'm a killer. My question for you is- Are you a killer, Castiel?"

"I'm nothing like you," he spits.

"So you say but I saw they way you shot them. It was cold, Castiel. You're meant to kill."

He shakes his head, suddenly feeling scared. "Shut up!" he yells. He's not a killer. He's nothing like Gordon. Or is he? He had come in here with the full intention of putting a bullet in his head. So maybe they're not all that different after all? He shakes his head harder, tears pricking his eyes. "Shut up!" 

"Or what? You're going to kill me?" he huffs. He puts his gun down and raises both his hands up. "Well, do it already then. You wouldn't chase an injured man all the way down here just to let me go."

Castiel blinks and the sound of the air rushing out his nose is loud in the otherwise silent room. He holds the gun steady and aims it at Gordon. He could end this now. Get rid of the threat once and for all. They could live their life freely and put all this behind them. His fingers hesitate over the trigger. Is he like Gordon?

In a much softer voice, Gordon hisses out. "If you don't kill me now, I will find that boy of yours and his little brother and-" 

A loud gunshot reverberated though the room. There's a shattering of glasses as the glass panels falls to the ground. Castiel stares, stunned at the smoking gun in his hands. His eyes fly up and takes in the blood on Gordon's shirt. The man is dipping his fingers in it then stares at the sight of his blood-soaked fingers as he rubs them together. 

"You know what I'll do? I'll have Dean fuck Sam. If he refuses, I'll threaten to cut off Sam's dick." His voice is strangled and wet, guttural hardly above a whisper. "I won't even let him uses his spit," he bites out. 

Rage and fear blinds him and before he knows it, he had taken a step forward and is emptying the gun in Gordon's face. The silencer, having being used several times now, starts to wear out and every small snips echoes loud in his ears. He shoots until there's no more bullets left and he's still shooting. With both hands on the colt, he keeps shooting, tears streaming down his face. He didn't realizes he had been screaming until he hears his own voice bellowing back at him. 

He doesn't know how long this last but then there's a pair of hand resting on top of his arms, slowly pressing his down. He lets it happen. The gun falls out of his loose grip and clatters to the floor. He can't look up, his body curls in on itself and shoulders slumped. He's shaking and silent tears are still leaking down his face. Someone tilts his face up. Green eyes meet his.

"Cas, he's dead," Dean says softly. 

He continues to stares at Dean dumbly and then flicks his eyes over to the mess that is Gordon. He immediately bends over and throws up. He feels like he's puking his guts out, nonstop bile pouring out of him. He chokes and gasps, wheezes and hacks as Dean eases him through it, patting his back and pushing his sweaty hair from his face. 

By the time he lets up, he's a sweaty and shaky mess. His limbs wouldn't support him and he almost crumbles into his own vomit if Dean hadn't grabbed him. He sneaks an arm around his back and props him up. When he's back on his feet, he soothes, "There you go. Get it all out of your system." 

Staring blankly ahead of him, Castiel says, "I killed three people today, Dean." There's no inflection in his voice, blank and monotonous. He's staring, but he's not staring. He doesn't know what's in fron of him. His vision blurs and he thinks he's crying again. "I did that." He points to Gordon or what is remain of the man. There is almost nothing left of Gordon's face, just a bunch of holes and looose chunks of flesh. 

"Cas," The way Dean say his name is like he's approaching a skittish animal, soft and slow. "Look at me." Castiel is still staring unseeingly at the Gordon's body when he feels Dean moves to stand in front of him. He puts his hands on his shoulders, the pressure solid and comforting. "Can you look at me, Cas?" Dean ask. Castiel doesn't like the tremor in the so he looks up. 

Dean is staring at him desperately, his eyes roaming his eyes and face as if trying to devour him. The hands on his shoulders slide up so now they're cupping his neck. "Cas, you're scaring me. I need you to come back to me. Please, come back to me," he begs.

What's Dean talking about? He's here. He's not going anywhere. He blinks and his vision clears. Bright emerald eyes stares back at him worriedly. His eyes drift down tracing the freckles on the face in front of him. They look like constellations. He lifts a finger up and traces the freckles on Dean's cheek. That looks like the Big Dipper. He smiles.

Dean covers his hand with his own, pressing it against his cheek as he leans into it. "Cas, please." He stares at their clasped hands for a moment longe before he flicks his eyes up. He's happy here. He doesn't know why Dean wants him to leave. 

"Dean?" He hardly recognizes his voice. It's so hoarse and brittle that it sounds more like a rustle than someone speaking.

Dean raises his hands and wipes the tears from his face with his thumb. He cups Castiel's face then and leans forward until their foreheads touch. Dean closes his eyes. "Yes, Cas," he sighs out. "It's me."

"Dean." It seems like it's all he can say. Dean's name. He closes his eyes then too, feel the tears spill over as he did so. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

Dean huffs a resigned laugh. "We've talked about this, Cas. Don't you say you're sorry when you have nothing to be sorry for." 

"You think I have nothing to be sorry about?" He pulls back shocked. "I killed three people today, Dean! I have plenty to be sorry for."

"Hey! Hey, okay. You're right. But you don't have to say sorry to me. You saved our life, Cas. I don't you want you to feel sorry for that."

"Dean, I've killed. I'm a murderer," he says hoarsely. "There's no turning back from that. Don't you see? I'm just like Gordon!" Gordon's words keep replay in his head, the words like 'killer' and 'the same' ringing loud in his ears. 

"Yes, you have killed, Cas. And unless there's some part of you that I don't know, you didn't do it because you like it. It's self-defense. You did it because you had to." Dean is looking at him with such sincerity in his eyes; it hurts Castiel just to look at him. Because deep down he knows what Dean said is untrue. 

He shakes his head and looks away. "I didn't have to kill Gordon. I did it anyway. I'm a murderer," he rasps out. Hearing those words out in the open stamps home the severity of what he had done. He has blood on his hands now. He shot a man in cold blood. "I'm a killer, Dean. You should leave."

"What? No! I'm not going to leave you."

"You should. You should take Sam and get as far away from me as you can," he says defeated. 

Dean lets out a frustrated sound. "God, Cas! Will you fucking look at me?" Startled by the vehemence in Dean's tone, he flicks his eyes over at the angry teenager. "I'm not leaving you," he bites out, eyes furious. "And you're not fucking going anywhere. Lucifer had already called the ambulance and Azazel's on his way. He's going to wrap this case up in a bow. And we're going to start anew. Capische?" 

The building is permeated with the sound of sirens in the distance. Dean looks up and around. Then, he turns pleading eyes at Castiel. "Please don't push me away. After all we've been through; we're so close now. Please, Cas. You don't have to deal with this alone. Let me in." Dean grabs his hand, gripping him tight. Castiel is at war. He had just killed three men and that's not something you can just forget. He doesn't want to drag Dean down with him. 

But looking down at their clasped hands and Deans earnest eyes, he can't say no. He's not strong enough. So he nods. Dean's face breaks into a smile and he pulls Castiel into a hug so tight he winces. Dean lets go of him slightly shamed-faced but the grin and happiness is still there. They stare at each other both with a smile on their face before Dean winces. He takes Castiel's injured arm in his hands. 

"You got shot?" he asks alarmed. "You're bleeding." Before Dean can go into full panic mode, Castiel gently pries his hands off him. He pulls back the sleeve of his shirt and looks at the wound.

"It's not that bad. It's just a graze." 

"Just a graze? _Just a graze?!_ " Dean emphasizes as he makes crazy eyes at him. "It's bullet, Cas. Ohmygod he could have shot you." Dean wheezes bending over and clutching his heart. "You could have died," he gasps out. 

Castiel would think it's funny if Dean isn't having such difficulty breathing. He pats Dean's back. "We could all have died, Dean. The bullets were flying everywhere. I was so afraid for you and Sam. Is Sam alright? Where is he?" he asks looking around. 

Dean is still bent over when he pants out, "I told him to stay put. Wasn't sure if it's safe." Someone clears their voices beside them. Dean's head snaps up, and Castiel turns around. "Sam!" he says in a high-pitched voice. He clears his throats and repeats in a much more normal voice, "Sammy. What are you doing here? I thought I asked you to stay with Lucifer?"

He straightens up and walks towards Sam, making sure to block his view of Gordon's behind them. He rests his hands on his small shoulder and turns him around so that Sam's back is against legs. He starts walking Sam back towards the exit. Castiel follows.

"The palameric arrives."

"Paramedics," Dean corrects.

"Yeah, that. They arrived and they're all," he gestures with his small hands encompassing the space in front of him. Castiel smiles as he falls in steps with them. "I was in the way so I thought I come find you. It was so dark, I can't see anything. I just followed the wall and then I heard your voices and I followed it here. Am I smart?" he asks then, smiling proudly. 

"I told you to stay there, Sammy. It's dangerous! There's a mad man running around and the place is in ruins!" Dean scolds. Sam is quiet then. Softly he asks, "Is the scary man gone?"

Dean looks at Castiel before answering just as soft. "Yes. Yes, he is. Cas made sure he will never get to us again." Castiel doesn't look at them, focuses instead on his feet as they take steps and steps forward. Dean made him sound like a hero. But he's not. 

All a sudden something comes barrelling into him, hugging him in the middle. "You're so brave, Cas!" His voice is muffled from where he had stuffed his face into Castiel's stomach. He shoot a wild eyes look at Dean, who is only beaming at him. Hesitantly, he places a hand on Sam's head and pats it. Sam squeezes him tighter before tilting his head up. He's looking at Castiel with such awestruck eyes like he'd hung the moon. 

His breath hitches. Sam makes a 'come here' gesture with his hand. Confused, Castiel crouches down so that they're on eye level. Then, Sam plants a kiss on Castiel's cheek. He stares at the kid, dazed, his hand coming up to graze the moisture there. "Thank you, Cas. For saving me. Saving us," Sam corrects. Then he kisses him again, on his other cheek. Castiel blinks as tears threaten to pour out of his eyes again.

Castiel is still too stunned to react when Sam wraps his tiny arms around his neck and hugs him again. "You're so brave. I want to be like you when I grow up," Sam whispers in his ears.

"Hey, what about me? I thought you want to be me when you grow up?" Comes Dean's mock-offended voice. Sam lets go of Castiel's neck and runs to wrap his arms around Dean's middle. 

"Don't worry, Dean. I love you too." Looking up at his big brother, he says, "But Cas is way cooler!" Then, he runs off cackling into the dark. 

"Hey wait up, you little brat!" Dean hollers and runs to catch up with Sam before he gets too far. Castiel stumbles to his wobbly feet, still stunned from Sam's gesture and words. He said 'I love you too' to Dean. Does that means he loves Castiel as well? Castiel's heart warms at the thought. Smiling to himself, he stays rooted to the spot until he hears Dean yells his name. When he looks up, he sees Dean waving at him. He smiles and runs over.

When he's in touching distance, Dean slips his hands into his. His face burns as Sam stares at their attached hand unabashedly. Noticing the blush on his face, Dean teases. "Awww, someone is embarrassed. Cas's cute when he's all red like that right, Sammy?" Sam nods furiously, beaming.

"Is Cas your boyfriend now, Dean?" Sam asks.

Castiel's heart stutters to a stop. He sneaks a glance up at Dean and quickly rivets his eyes back to the floor when he found him staring right back at him. His heart is beating like a rabbit now as he waits for Dean's answer. He shouldn't be so nervous. They had established what they mean to each at the hospital. And Dean had muttered nonstop that he loved him until he fell asleep. So why didn't his heart got the memo?

Dean squeezed his fingers. Castiel peers up at him from below his lashes, watches as Dean swallows audibly. "He is if he wants to. I'll be more than lucky to have Cas as my boyfriend." Dean's face goes aflame as he says that. 

"Wow, Dean. That's the cheesiest thing I've ever heard you said."

"Shut up, midget. I'm waiting for an answer here," Dean shushes as he stares at Castiel with wide, nervous eyes. "Are we, Cas?" he whispers, voice much softer than before. 

Feeling his cheeks heat up, he turns his gaze on Sam. "What do you think, Sam? Is it okay if I'm Dean's boyfriend?" he asks, wanting Sam's approval and permission before giving any answer.

"I don't know why you would want to be Dean's boyfriend because he's dumb-"

"Hey!"

"- but if that means that you'll be sticking around then I'm happy!" Sam continues, beaming up at Castiel. "You can be my new best friend!" Sam slips his little hand into Castiel's free hand and swings them. "I can show you my little soldiers collection. You will like them! And you can... _Oh_!" Sam eyes widens like saucer. "You've got so many books! Can I read them please? Can you teach me? I promise I'll be good and take care of your books! Pretty please?" Sam tugs at Castiel's hand, directing pure undiluted puppy eyes at him. 

"Oh boy, there goes the killer puppy eyes. You're in for it now, Cas. Better say yes."

Castiel gulps. How can he say no to that face? He smiles. "Of course, Sam. I'll be happy to share my books with you. And don't be afraid to ask if you stumble upon words you don't understand." 

Sam jumps up into the air and whoop. Then with excited eyes, Sam comes running at him again, exclaiming "You're so smart, Cas! You're like a walking dictionary! I have my own walking and talking dictionary! How cool is that?!" Sam hugs him around the middle again. He can't help it. He laughs. Ruffling Sam's head with his free hand, he looks up at Dean. They stare again. It seems like it's something they often do, but Castiel doesn't mind, only smiling wider when Dean mouthes 'I love you' to him. 

They're alive. They survived. Maybe the worst is over. Maybe now, they get to have a fresh start. They make their way to the exits. The sound of sirens grow louder as they approach. The flashing red and blue lights splash over the building. Castiel can see out into the horizon; the sky a blood red as the sun peeps out. Whatever tomorrow might bring, he can deal with them. As long as he has Dean and Sam by his side, he can face anything. 

The three of them steps out of the building into the breaking dawn.


	24. Chapter 24

Dean can't believe they made it out alive. The cold night air cools the sweat on his face and body causing goosebumps to rise. He takes deep fresh air. For a moment there he really thought they were all going to die. Especially when the bullets were flying. Clutching Sam tight in his arm and not knowing where Castiel was, he was scared half out of his mind. 

Watching Castiel's profile stark against the morning sky, his heart twinges. They may be alive, but it's not without scars; both visible and invisible ones. Some worse than the others. Castiel had killed three men today. That's going to leave a scar much deeper than the bruises on his body and the wound on his arm. It isn't something he can see or touch, but it's there. Castiel is a different person now than he was then.

When he found Castiel earlier, screaming as he emptied the gun, he was terrified. The scream was one of torment and desolation, and it rang loud in the room. It was bloodcurdling, and Dean still feels the lingering chill from it. Castiel seemed to be stuck in his own world, unable to get out. He had tried to reach out to him, but Castiel wasn't responding. He was _blank_. There was no expression on his face; his eyes dead. 

It had scared Dean more than his scream. It's like he was gone but still there. It's different from when he had blanked out before with Gordon. That Castiel was gone. He wasn't in the room with them. This Castiel however, was still in his body, was still seeing everything in front of him. But his mental mind was blank, wiped clean. Unfeeling. Emotionless. Scary. It's like he forced himself not to feel because feeling is too much. 

Dean would say that he preferred the look on Castiel's face when he returned better but no. What happened next was like watching a star fall. First came the realization then came the misery. Castiel's face was wracked with self-hatred and loathing, a feeling he's more than familiar with. It's not something to be taken lightly. If you hate yourself enough, it will slowly eat at you until one day you wake up and wonder why you're still alive. It's dangerous. And again, Dean was scared.

He had tried to make light of the situation, diverted Castiel's attention someplace else. Sam had helped. His bubbly presence a light in the darkness and Castiel was taken along for the ride. He knows it's not a long-term solution, they would have to talk about this. But for the moment, he's happy. They had made it out alive, and he has all the time in the world to help and support Castiel through his issues.

Staring over Castiel to Sam's small frame clinging to the teen's hand, he smiles. Sam is staring at the ambulance with interested, hazel eyes bright with curiosity. God bless kids and their short attention span. Of course, Sam is going to have nightmares about this for days to comes. Maybe even weeks, but at the moment he seems alright. He's glad Sam listened when he had told him to close his eyes. Unlike him. 

A brunette rushes at them, shining a sort of spotlight into his eyes. He flinches back, blinking. "Stop blinking. Open your eyes," a hectic female voice commands. Dean complies feeling his pupils constrict. "Good, good. No signs of a concussion." She tilts his head sideways. "You've got a bad gash above you eyebrows." She peers at it, adding. "Well, you don't seem to need stitches, though. You look pretty bang up. Are you hurt anywhere else?" she asks, removing her grip from his chin.

She seems vaguely familiar. "Hael!" he blurts remembering the paramedic who helped Castiel the night before. 

"Yep, that's me. Glad to see you remembered. Not happy to see you both again, though," she replies. "How is it that troubles always seem to find you?" She scans her eyes over him, cocking an eyebrow. "And?"

Dean looks nonplussed for a moment before remembering. "Oh! I'm okay. Just a few bruised ribs and I think I got a split lip." He points at it huffing out a laugh. "Nothing I can't heal from. Don't worry. You should look at Castiel though. He was shot."

Hael turns to Castiel in alarm. "Why didn't you say anything?" she exclaims eyes darting over Castiel's body. She spots the bloodied sleeve on his t-shirt. "Your arm. Let me see that." She indicates for Castiel to pull up his sleeve. When he does, she tuts. "How did you get this?"

"A bullet a grazed me," Castiel answers in a gravelly voice. He clears his throat and continues, "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. Just let the lady treats you," he scolds. Hael gives him a smile and nods. 

"He's right. This is pretty deep. You need to get stitches. Come with me," she instructs, leading Castiel by his arm. Castiel looks back at them with a scared look on his face and Dean can't suppress his snort of laughter. Placing a hand on Sam's shoulder, they follow the duo to a parked ambulance. Once there, Hael nudges Castiel to take a sit and proceeds to open a box of first aid kit. She takes out a wad of cotton and a bottle of antiseptic. Then, she grabs an ice pack and throws it at Dean. "Put that on your face. It'll help with the swelling." Dean nods, doing as he's told.

"Okay, we need to clean the wound first. This might sting a little." Turning towards Castiel, she tips the bottle over the cotton swab and dabs at the wound. Castiel hisses. Sam comes up to his side and holds his hand. Castiel's look of surprise slowly change into one of gratefulness and then a quiet joy. Dean must be getting soft of something because he thinks he's about to cry. He dabs his eyes with the corner of his sleeves discreetly, hoping to god no one noticed.

"You're taking such good care of your friend, little one," Hael comments, smiling. 

"Of course! Cas is my bestest friend!" Sam says proudly, puffing out his small chest.

"Thank you, Sam. I appreciate it." Castiel gives Sam an earnest smile to which he returns with his own toothy grin.

Hael beams and throws the swab away. Then, she pulls out a needle and some threads. Sam stares at them nervously. "This will hurt," Hael warns and Castiel nods, expression grave. "Sam, do you think you could distract Castiel for me? Maybe you could tell him a story. Do you think you can handle that, young man?" 

Sam nods enthusiastically, exclaiming, "Have you heard of Charlotte's Web?" At Castiel's shake of his head, Sam launches into a spiel about Charlotte, the spider who tries to save a pig called Wilbur. It's actually quite an interesting story except it seems kind of morbid and sad for a children's book. Charlotte ends up dying, leaving Wilbur with her spiderlings. Sam is looking quite tearful by the end of it, and Dean is no better himself. But at least the story managed to distract Castiel for Hael to stitch him up. She snips the thread and declares him as good as new. Sam cheers, the dork.

Castiel mutters his thanks and stands, pausing before directing his gaze at Hael. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but do you know what happened to Lucifer and Michael? How are they?" he asks, concerned. 

Dean had forgotten about them in his post 'we-have-survived!' haze and he chastised himself for that. Lucifer is terrible human being, but he did come and tried to save them. And in return he had gotten himself shot, and the man he was with was too. Before he had left them, it had seemed grave. Dean feels guilty for not being more concerned about their welfare earlier. It stands to reason that Castiel will. He's like a saint.

"Lucifer was shot in the arm and thigh. Both bullets went through. Apart from a slight blood loss, he will be okay. Michael however," Hael hesitates. "He got shot in his chest. He wasn't having difficulties breathing, so we guess his lungs wasn't punctured. But it wasn't a clean shot. The bullet is still lodged in there somewhere. We don't know where it is. A slight jar or bump might cause the bullet to migrate, and that won't be good. That's all I can say for now," she apologizes. "Are the two of you close?" 

Castiel shakes his head. But Hael nods like she understands. Perhaps she does. Whether Castiel knows the guy well, it doesn't matter. If the man dies, it's another extra body weighing Castiel down. They were the reason he was there in the first place. 

"This might not be a good time to tell you this, but there are a few police officers waiting to talk to you." She points to the two parked cruiser by the fences a few meters away. Dean turns and notices two officers standing there. They all have their eyes on them; Azazel too. When he turns back, he sees Hael reaching into a jar in the ambulance and brings out a lollipop. She hands it over to Sam, who brightens visibly at the offer. 

"This is for being such a caring boy for your friend," she says. Sam reaches out for it happily. "Thank you, Miss Hael." He is quick to tear open the candy wrapper and sticks it into his mouth, sucking hungrily. Dean doesn't have it in him to reprimand him for his slobbiness. Sam must be famished. His stomach growls in agreement. 

They say their thanks and Dean tosses the melted ice pack away. His face feels tingly and he keeps scrunching it up before Castiel chastises him. Feeling slightly put out, they walk up to the police. Castiel looks contrite and Dean knows he's worried. He takes his hand into his and gives him an encouraging smile. Castiel looks more or less reassured and nods. Sam is still holding on to Castiel's other hand, and it's like they're the Winchester bodyguards standing on either side of Castiel. 

As they approach the cars, Azazel strides over to them. "We have three dead bodies on our hands," he says without preamble. "One of them, I presume is Gordon. It's hard to say considering his face is pulverized." Dean flinches and sneaks a glance at Castiel, worried. Castiel's face is blank. His heart sinks. "Do you mind telling me what the hell happened?"

Dean is about to explain when Castiel beats him to it. He tells the whole story from the beginning starting with Dean's visit to the hospital, the threat on Sam, the warehouse, Lucifer and Michael's arrival and the subsequent shootout. "I killed them," Castiel finishes voice flat. He had used the same flat tone the entire time, and Dean is getting increasingly worried. He knows it's some sort of defense mechanism, and it's not one that he likes. He squeezes Castiel's hand, letting him know that he's still here. 

Azazel is nodding, sallow face contemplative. "Sounds like self-defense to me." Castiel remains motionless. "Lucifer's statement seems to collaborate with that. We will have to wait for Michael's. In the meantime, this is what we'll stick with, do you understand me?" Azazel waits for them to nod before continuing. 

"I'm going to keep this nice and simple and try to kee you all out of jail. But the three dead bodies in there? They're not from around here. The Feds are going to come in tomorrow. I want everything to look good and spotless." He enunciates the last part, double meaning clear. If they wish to stay out of trouble, they will keep their mouth shut. About the underage sex, the prostituting, Crowley's drugs, everything.

"One word out of line and it's very easy to make this seem like a homicide. What happened to Gordon's face, that's overkill. I'm curious to see which jury would sympathize with a rabid, violent teenager. I can make you look bad, Castiel. Do not tempt me. And Dean, listen for once in your goddamn life and your friends won't get into trouble." The way he stresses on friends, plural, Dean knows he's not only talking about Castiel. 

"Now that this is settled, someone will be taking Lucifer's place at the home. Her name is Rachel Norman. A patrol car will take you back. She's waiting for you. Go and get some rest. You deserve it." He places his hand on Castiel's jaw and rubs his scruff softly. Castiel's eye flickers down. "You look terrible, sweetheart. Take good care of yourself," he adds oblivious to both Dean and Sam's murderous glare. 

Letting go of Castiel, he yells, "Corbett!" Officer Corbett walks up to them, posture straight and respectful. "Take them back to the orphanage. Rachael is already there and will be expecting them. Return to the station right after," he instructs. 

"Yes, sir." Officer Corbett shows them to his cruiser. Once they're all buckled in, he starts to drive. Dean leans back and lets out a long exhale. It had been a long day, and his whole body ached from spending hours in an awkward angle. He looks down at Sam, who's seated between them, seat belt safely secured against his little tummy. Something red catches his eyes. The rope burns on Sam's wrists. 

His heart aches at the sight of it. It's proof of his failure once again. His inability to protect Sam. Taking one of his wrists, Dean massages them. Sam's already nodding off, his head falling forward and he has to catch himself a few times. When it appears like he's going to fall again, Dean catches the side of his head and leads him down onto his lap. Sam's out like a light. He has stops massaging Sam's wrist. Instead, he just keeps holding his little hand in his lap. 

Watching Sam sleeps, he feels lots calmer like he can finally breathe. He turns his head towards Castiel. He's watching Sam too with a fond expression on his face. Dean's heart melts at the sight. The fact that Castiel loves Sam just as much as he does makes Dean loves him more. He's most likely supporting a goofy smile on his face right now but who cares. Castiel knows Dean's a dork for him. His eyes start to droop, but he blinks back the sleepiness. He wants to watch just a while longer.

When his eyes find Castiel, the teenager is gazing back at him, his eyes all soft around the edges. Castiel lifts a hand over Sam and runs it through Dean's hair, scratching his scalp. He sighs, feeling his muscles loosen as he blinks sleepily. He would deny something akin to a purr escaping his mouth. He would also deny nuzzling Castiel's hand like a kitten. Though it doesn't stop the small smile from forming on Castiel's lips. And he thinks that's okay.

"Go to sleep, Dean. I'll wake you when we arrive," Castiel mumbles, his voice soft and soothing. Dean nods and lets his eyes fall shut. Castiel continues to comb through his hair when he suddenly starts to hum. Dean doesn't know what song it is or if it's a lullaby, but it's soothing. The low timbre of Castiel's voice matches well with the tune; a warm rustic sound. It sounds foreign, ethereal. Heavy and melodious. 

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knows, someone is shaking him awake. He blinks, bringing up a fist to rub at his eyes. Sitting up straighter, he notice something heavy lying on him. He smiles as he sees the sleeping boy in his lap. Castiel is unbuckling his seat belt when Officer Corbett opens the door beside him. Dean yawns wide before he undoes his own seat belt. Careful not to stir Sam, he slides out then leans back in to gather the boy up in his arms. Sam stirs at the movement but drops his head into the crook of Dean's neck and falls asleep again. When Castiel joins them, they mumble their thanks to Officer Corbett and watches as he pulls away. 

Together, they walk up the small path towards the front door. The door open before they knock, revealing a woman around mid-thirties in a white bathrobe. She has a matronly face, but her soft blonde fringe makes her look friendly and approachable. She smiles as she waves them inside. She takes one look at Sam tuckered out in Dean's arm and ushers them to their room. Once they're at Dean's door, though, he hesitates. He doesn't want Castiel to go back to his room alone. 

"Can Cas sleep with us?" he asks, and before Rachael could protest, he adds, "We just don't feel like being apart yet. Please?" Rachael looks from Dean's pleading eyes to Castiel's tired ones. 

"Are you alright with that, Castiel?" she asks. Castiel nods. "Alright then, in you all go. Get as much sleep as you need. You don't have to go to school today, and I'll make sure the rest of the children knows to be quiet. Sleep the whole day if you have to," she adds. She gives them a reassuring smile and when they're all inside, closes the door behind them. 

Dean carries Sam over to the bed and puts him down. Sam sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes. "Hey Sammy, we're going to get you out of these dirty clothes okay? Cmon put your arms up for me," he encourages. Sam does, and Dean slips his smelly shirt of him and then crouches to take off both his little sneakers and jeans. He goes back to their shared drawer and pulls out an underwear, throwing it to Sam, who looks at Castiel nervously. 

Getting the hint, Castiel approaches Dean, and together they pick out Sam night shirt. When they turn around, Sam's already lying down in bed, hugging his pillow. Dean shakes his head and coaxes him into his shirt, tucking Sam in under the covers right after. When Sam is comfy and sound asleep, Dean turns towards Castiel. There's a soft look on Castiel's face as he watches them. And all at once, Dean feels inexplicably tired. 

He toes off his shoes; Castiel mirroring him. Then, he slips out of his jeans and pulls his t-shirt over his head. His heart does a skip when Castiel does the same, miles and miles of naked skin in front of him. Castiel stands there awkwardly before Dean realizes that he doesn't have his underwear on. Blushing red, he hurries to the drawers and pulls out a boxer.

He hands them over and watches as Castiel pulls them up his mile long legs and snaps it around his hips. "Batman?" Castiel comments quirking his eyebrows. Dean shrugs. "What can I say? I've always wanted to be a hero. Never though I end up being with one instead." Castiel rolls his eyes and moves towards the bed. He watches Castiel go, all graceful limbs and easy moves. For reasons he doesn't want to pursue, he likes seeing Castiel in his underwear. 

"Stop smirking and come to bed, Dean," he chastises as he pulls back the cover and pats the space beside him. Dean bites the inside of his cheek because he can't stop smiling. They're going to bed together. Like they're going to sleep together, cuddle and spoon and everything. The prospect shouldn't excites him as much as it did. Because cmon, he doesn't _canoodle_. The only time he goes to be with anyone, it's for sex. 

Castiel rolls his eyes again and holds out his hand. Dean smiles as he takes them, falling into bed with an oomph when Castiel tugs on it. The teen pulls the covers up around them and pulls Dean close. Castiel is like those clingy octopus whereby he wraps his arms and legs around Dean's torso like he would die if he doesn't. Not that he minds. In fact, he can't stop smiling. Guess he's got his wish after all. 

Dean snuggles closer, loving the feeling of Castiel all over as he basks in his warmth. Castiel rests his head on Dean's chest, the tip of his hair tickling his chin. He wraps his arms around Castiel and closes his eyes. "Cas?" he murmurs. "Hmm?" Came the reply. "I love you. You know that right?" Castiel is silent for a moment but he feels pliant and relaxed in his arms so Dean isn't too worried. 

"I love you too, Dean. For as long as you will have me, I will always love you," Castiel whispers. Dean's heart swells ten times its size and he tightens his hold on Castiel. He's not crying again is he? Goddamit. Who the fuck does that when someone tells you that they loved you? Dean apparently. But it's alright. They're happy tears. He kisses the top of Castiel's head, letting the kiss lingers. He smiles when he hears Castiel snores. Feeling more comfortable and content than he's ever been in his life, Dean is quick to fall asleep too.

\---

The next time Dean came to consciousness, it was too Sam blowing into his ear, giggling the way only a child can. The kind that is full of joy tinted by a smudge of mischief. Dean growled in discontentment when he turned around and saw that it was only noon. He barely got 6 hours of sleep. Of course, Sam would be filled with energy and would not stop bugging him. 

When Dean ignored him, he found his next victim. Castiel was buried so deep into his pillow that only a dark tuff of hair is visible. Well, safe to say Castiel was not a morning person. After unsuccessfully getting Sam to leave them the hell alone, they had gotten up and went for brunch. They were famished. Dean tore into the kitchen supplies and whooped when he found a batter for pancakes. 

Soon, the kitchen was smelling of sweet sugary heaven. Sam had his pancakes covered in syrup while Castiel is content to dose his with honey. Dean, however, went for an entirely different approach. He added slices of sizzling bacon as topping on his pancake. That's the meaning of life, right there.

They had all taken a shower after. Dean made sure Sam's all fresh and clean before he sent him off with one of his own books despite major protest to read. Sam had wanted one of Castiel's books, but since they haven't showered yet, no one will be there to tutor him. And Dean intended for the shower to take a while. 

Stepping into the shower with Castiel was all manner of unholy. They didn't do anything sexual, but that doesn't mean it still wasn't hot as fuck. Dean knew better than to instigate anything so soon after the assault. But he did enjoy watching the water pouring down Castiel's awesome body. No going to lie, he had seen Castiel naked before, more than once. 

But this, being all up in his personal space, their skin touching. He can feel Castiel's body warmth against him, his breath in his ears and those beautiful blue eyes on him. The small smile he loved so much tucked at the corner of Castiel's mouth the entire time, teasing him. It felt intimate. Like this moment belonged to them. Only them. And no one can take this away from them. Ever. They kissed and washed each other down. They scrubbed each other's hair and even started a foam fight. It was all very domestic, and they had come out laughing and dripping. 

Then it was time for the talk. First, they had to report to Rachael. She turned out to be an awfully nice and kind person. Which made Dean sad that she's only here temporary. Why couldn't they had gotten someone like her in the first place? Their life would have turned out so differently. Rachael was sympathetic and understanding. She told them to take the rest of the day off, and if needed they don't have to go to school tomorrow. 

They had all decided to take her up on the offer. Castiel was still feeling sore; he might need to take more than tomorrow off. And Dean and Sam wasn't feeling up to it as well. The media's going to go crazy with the story, and they don't want to be in the spotlight when it happens. Castiel voiced out that Anna was getting him notes and homework when he was at the hospital so maybe she would do the same for them now. Rachel agreed.

She then told them that Lucifer had called saying that he will remain in the hospital for a few days. They asked about Michael, but there was still no news. The doctors were not sure what to do. That hadn't sounded optimistic. No wonder Lucifer wanted to stay. Rachael hadn't minded staying the extra days longer. In fact, she's glad to be able to spend more time with the children here. She'd taken a liking to Amelia. And considering that the home's cupboard began to fill with Lucky Charms, Dean suspected she's a soft spot for Sam too. 

When the others came back from school, Anna cornered them demanding to know what happened. He was surprised to find that Castiel and Anna were close. He had always thought Castiel was a loner. His heart warmed to the notion that there were someone else who cared and fussed about Castiel. He deserved to have all the friends in the world. Anna was understandably shocked and pulled Castiel into a hug. The single tear tracking down Castiel's cheek hadn't escaped Dean's attention. 

The next day, the Federal agents arrived as expected. They led them to Lucifer's office and took their statement alternately. Castiel was the first one to go, and the look on his face scared Dean again. It was the same one he put on every time he talked about the shootings. When Castiel came back out thirty or so minutes later, he looks pale and shaky. Dean's concern spiked, but there wasn't time to do anything else before he was ushered in. 

He told the Feds the story Azazel had cooked up for them. It was the truth after all apart from some left out details. They nodded and wrote in their little notepad as he spoke. They questioned and prodded and then he was good to go. He hadn't realized that he too was shaky. It was a nerve-wracking experience to be interrogated by the police, much more the Feds. Castiel was outside waiting for him. He looked nervous. They held each other hands, silent and contemplative when it was Sam's turn to go in. 

When Sam came out, he ran straight for Dean and hugged him. Dean wrapped his arms around his shoulders and held tight. The agents told them not to worry. It seemed like an open and shut case of self-defense. The pinched look on Castiel's face abated when he heard that and Dean heaved a sigh of relief. But then they had to ruin the moment by asking Castiel not to leave town. Said it was more a procedural thing than anything else and there was no need for alarm. 

Dean's worried, though. And although Castiel liked to pretend that he's not, Dean can tell he's worried too. Over the next few days, Dean had caught him staring sometimes. Just unseeingly, his face blank and eyes stormy. And whenever Dean would touch him during these moments, no matter how soft or gentle he was, Castiel would jump like he was electrocuted; eyes wild and scared. When he noticed it was Dean, he always did the same thing that made Dean's heart clenched.

He smiled. But it never reached his eyes. Dean wanted to pursue, wanted to push, to beg Castiel to let him in. Talk to him. Anything but this fake smile and nonchalant demeanor. He did try. But Castiel would avoid the topic altogether. And when he wouldn't shut up about it, Castiel would kiss him into submission. He knew Castiel was breaking inside, and he wanted to help. But how can he when Castiel was determined to push him away?

Right now, Castiel's doing it again. The thing where he goes quiet and his face takes on this blank look. Sam is sitting on his lap reading one of Castiel's Enid Blyton books. The cover shows two children sitting on a chair with wings; The Wishing Chair. On the front page of every book, there's a small birthday message signed by Castiel's father. Dean is lying on his back beside them staring up at Castiel.

Castiel's scratching Sam's head, but he's no longer here with them, Dean can tell. He's stuck somewhere in his head, this awful place that Dean wants to banish with all his heart. Pursing his lips, he moves higher up until he leaning against the headboard. He shuffles closer. His movements dipped the bed and Sam look up at him questioningly. Dean makes a go-back-to-your-book motion with his hands. Sam rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to his book. 

Dean slides himself right up beside Castiel, their arms and thighs touching. Castiel blinks and turns towards Dean, his face so close, Dean can see the cerulean blueness of his eyes. Like a Caribbean turquoise blue. "Hello, Dean," Castiel murmurs. Dean smiles, nudging his arms against Castiel's. "Whatcha thinking about?" he asks, trying to keep it light.

Castiel lowers his eyes down at Sam's head where he's still scratching absently. "Nothing interesting," he answers. Dean's disappointed despite already expecting that answer. He feels helpless. Glancing at the bedside table, Dean spots the long forgotten card lying there. He picks it up and turns the card around. The hand-scribbled address is still there. When he looks up, Castiel is gazing at the card curiously, head tilted to one side. Dean finds that adorable. He finds all Castiel's little quirks endearing. 

He holds up the card as he says, "Lisa invited us to her son's birthday party. It's tomorrow. He's turning six. Do you want to go?"

"Party?" Sam pipes up interest piques.

"Yeah. There's going to be a cake and balloon and lots of food," he tempts remembering Lisa's comment about kids and foods. Maybe it would be a nice change for them all. To go out and hang around others. To have something to celebrate and be festive about. Maybe it'll help pull Castiel out of his funk. "Ben will be very happy if you'd come."

"Ben Braeden?" Sam shifts and turns around, hazel brown eyes glittering.

"Yeah, why? Do you know him?" 

"Uh huh," he nods, excited. "We're in the same Art class! He can draw, Dean! One time, Miss Oliver told us to draw our classmate and Ben drew me!" he says proudly. "It doesn't look like me because it sorts of look like a cartoon, but there was this 'I Wuz Hugz' t-shirt on it. And I was wearing that that day! That's how I can tell! Isn't that awesome?" Sam babbles a mile a minute, more excited than Dean has seen him in days. 

Sam has scrambles out of Castiel's lap and bounces on the bed. "I want to go to his party!" His eyes widen comically. "I know what to give him as a birthday present! I'm going to give him a drawing!" He jumps out of bed to the desk and climbs into the chair. His legs dangle above the floor as he pulls out his art stationaries. He stops and turns back looking nervous. "What if he doesn't like it? I suck at drawing."

"Hey, language!" Dean scolds. 

"You curse all the time, Dean!" 

Before they can fall into their usual banter, Castiel cuts in. "Sam, it's the thought that counts." Sam doesn't look too convince. "You think so? But what if he thinks it's stupid?" He's twisting his little hands in his lap, looking small and unsure.

This is a side of Sam he rarely sees. Maybe Castiel's presence is bringing out his more sensitive side. Dean knows he can be brash and emotionally stunted at times. Perhaps that made Sam uncomfortable confiding in things he thinks Dean would classify as 'girly' or 'sissy'. God, he's a sucky brother. 

"Why do you want to give him a drawing as a present?" Castiel asks leaning forward. His face is kind and thoughtful betraying nothing behind his question. 

"Because I like his drawing of me. And I want to give him one too," he answers simply.

Castiel smiles. "There you go. Just tell him that and I'm sure he'll find whatever you draw him beautiful." Sam's face lights up. "Really?" Castiel nods. Sam cheers and turns back to his drawing paper. He picks up a bright yellow color pencil and starts drawing. 

Dean couldn't stop smiling, staring at the side of Castiel's face. He had been quiet throughout the whole exchange wanting to see how Castiel would have handled the situation. He did it in such a _Cas_ way that he doesn't have the heart to tell him that some kids are mean. He's just relieved Castiel hasn't changed. If given a choice, he would still choose to put his heart out there and trust the other party to e careful with it. It's not something he wants Castiel to lose. It's one of the qualities he loves most in him.

"Thank you," he whispers, peering up at Castiel from under his lashes when he turns to look at Dean. 

"Well, he did say I'm his best friend. And best friend works both ways," he murmurs. They are steadily leaning into each other space. They're so close now that they're sharing breaths. It's so cheesy; Dean wants to puke. Like bucketful full of rainbows and sunshine. He smirks and cocks on eyebrow up. "So, do you want to join us at the party? You can be my plus one." He makes it sounds dirtier than it's supposed to mean. Castiel raises an eyebrow at that. 

"Well, if plus one means your date, I'll be more than willing to. But from the way you say, is there something else you have in mind for me at the party?" Castiel is looking at him a cheeky glint in his eyes. "Do I need to rent a tux? Or am I to go in my birthday suit? It is a birthday party after all."

It's hard, but Dean manages not to laugh out loud. Oh god, Castiel's game is awful. But Dean is totally falling for it. "I think you would look good in a tux. As do I." 

Castiel nods his face serious. "You would definitely look good in a suit, Dean." Then, he looks up a teasing gleam in his eyes. "But I think you'll look better without." Dean gulps. Okay, how did this go from zero to ninety so fast? The lines are not even original. But fuck if it doesn't sound super hot and sexy coming from Castiel's mouth. He can be a phone sex operator with that husky voice of his. 

Plus, Castiel is usually so quiet and unassuming. To see him acting so bold and to be the one to initiate sexual innuendos is something he's not used to seeing. But he likes it. Castiel being all dominant and taking charge like this. It's making him feels all kind of hot inside. Huh. That's interesting. Dean leans closer, eyes on Castiel's mouth as he whispers, "Oh yeah? But we can't turn up at the party with you fully suited up and me naked as the day I was born. It will look like I'm your boy toy."

Dean cannot believe the words coming out of his mouth. Where the hell did he learn how to talk dirty like that? Especially being someone's _boy toy_. He was never a submissive. He doesn't like giving up control. Except it seems like he does. Oh, he does. Castiel hasn't said anything to that and Dean panics. What is he thinking? He sounds like a slut. He's about to retract his comment when there's a sharp intake of breath.

When he looks up, Castiel's pupils are blown wide, the blue almost eclipsed by black. He's staring at Dean flushing beautifully. His gaze drops to his mouth, and his tongue slips out to wet his lips. Dean tracks the movement with his eyes. God, he wants to kiss Castiel. But Dean doesn't want to be the first one to crack. He pulls his bottom lip in and bites it before letting them pop out, swollen and red. Castiel's composure is definitely cracking. He can see the heat in Castiel's gaze, the need and want there.

They have been kissing and sleeping together, but they haven't had sex yet. Not since that one time at the club. And Dean refuses to let that time count. It was forced on them. It's not something they consented to. Despite them both admitting that they found it pleasurable, it doesn't mean the same. 

It doesn't stop him from recalling how it felt being buried deep inside Castiel. His penis twitches as he recalls how warm and tight Castiel was around him, clenching and milking him for all he was worth. Suddenly, Dean is warm all over, his blood singing in his veins rushing down to his groin. Castiel is not faring any better. He's a little breathless, hot breaths puffing at his face. They're so close now and Dean can feel the heat pouring out of Castiel's body. 

Despite feeling horny as fuck, Dean knows he needs to think straight about this. Castiel might not be ready. And he might regret his heat of the moment decision. Castiel was also assaulted and having sex so soon might trigger him or something. Dean needs to be sure. He doesn't want to rush it and ruin what they have. He can be patient. He can put Castiel's need ahead of himself. He licks his lips and fixes Castiel with a serious look. "Cas," he starts. 

"Let's go to my room."

Dean's eyes widen. "Are you sure?" he whispers. 

"Yes, Dean. I want this. Now." The commanding tone of Castiel's voice sends a thrill through his body. And damn, he's not superman okay? He's a fucking teenager with raging hormones. To his utter embarrassment, he lets out a small mewl at that. Clapping his hands over his mouth, he snaps his eyes over at Sam. Okay, they need to get the fuck out of this room right now. 

Castiel is smirking that bastard. Dean clears his throat and tries for nonchalant. Instead, he ends up sounding pained and strained as he says, "Hey Sammy? We're going to get you more books from Cas's room. Are you okay in here by yourself for a while?"

"I'm six, Dean. You don't have to babysit me all the time," Sam says, not even bothering to turn around to Dean's relief. He's not sure he can subtly hide the obvious tent in his jeans. He clears his voice again, but Castiel cuts him off. "We'll bring you ice cream on the way back." 

That son of a bitch actually sounds normal. How the hell does he do that? Dean didn't get to dwell on that for long because then there's a shriek and Sam is off the chair, gunning for the bed. With lightning, quick reflexes that would put ninjas to same, Dean grabs a pillow and jams it in front of his crotch. He forces a smile on his face as Sam bounces on the bed going straight for Castiel. He hugs him around the neck. 

"Yay!!! Ice cream! Thank you, Cas! You're the best!" He plants a kiss on his cheek and bounds back to his place at the desk, leaving Dean blinking in shock. Sighing, he wipes a hand down his face, muttering a few choice curse words. Castiel laughs softly beside him.

"Fuck you," he muttered, but there's no heat behind his words. Castiel just slaps him against the thigh and jumps out of bed. How can he still look so presentable? One minute he was flushing and sending all kinds of fuck me vibes. And the next, he's back to being good old sensible Castiel, with playful eyes and a smug grin. Dean can't even find it in himself to be mad when Castiel looks this happy. He shakes his head, feeling his hard on dwindling from the sudden turn of events.

They get off the bed and walk out the door. Dean closes the door behind them, and when he turns around, he's faced with a grinning Castiel. 

"You think you're so funny, don't you?" 

"I'm not funny, Dean. Everyone knows that," Castiel deadpans. 

Dean rolls his eyes and shoves at Castiel's chest. "Shut up." 

Castiel smirks. "Make me." And just like that, the heat is back, Castiel's eyes burning a trail down his chest to his groin. Dean's softening penis begins to harden at the attention. He's pretty sure Castiel is able to see the little chub poking against his zipper. Castiel has a wicked smile on his face, something Dean would never have been able to picture if he hadn't seen it for real. 

Castiel leans away and walks backward languidly to his room two doors down. Like a freaking marionette, Dean stumbles after Castiel when someone calls out his name. Groaning as he shoots his eyes skywards, he curses whoever it is up there that hates him. He takes a deep breath before turning around. It's Rachel. His playfulness from a second ago dims at the sight of her serious face. Castiel's movement behind him stills as well.

"Dean, I have someone on the phone for you," she says as she walks towards them.

"For me?" Dean asks, surprised. Who would be calling him here? Lisa? Maybe she wants to retract her invitation. The whole incident had been on the news for days. Their pictures were scattered on the front page of the local papers, and the TV news were talking about it non-stop. Dean would have thought they wouldn't release the names of minors but tough luck; that's not the case. Reporters and tv crews are stationed outside the home and according to Anna, the school as well. She was ambushed once or twice. So it wouldn't be weird for Lisa to call and say that she changed her mind. Who would want this kind of bad press at their son's birthday party, right? 

"Yes. It's your father. John Winchester."


	25. Chapter 25

Rachel leads him towards her office. Dean is in shock ever since Rachel told him who it was on the phone. His head had gone blank and his body worked on auto pilot. He hadn't even realized he had followed Rachel until they're at the door to her office. She's looking at him like he's about to pass out and he think that she might be right.

"Dean, do you want to be alone on the phone? I can be with you for the entire call if you need me to. Just let me know." Rachel sounds sincere like she's worried. He swallows and looks down the hallway. He can still see Castiel standing by his door, worried expression etched on his face. He wishes he could have Castiel with him. 

Shaking his head, he says. "No, it's okay. I would like to speak with my dad alone." Rachel nods understandingly and opens the door to her office. Dean gives Castiel a small nod before he enters and closes the door behind him. He feels shaky all over as he approaches the phone. When he picks up the receiver, his hand shakes.

"Hello?" 

"Dean."

All at once all the pent up emotion he'd been harboring pours out of him in waves and currents. Relief, happiness, anger, sadness floods him and for a while, he can't speak. Then, it's like the dam burst and his voicebox opens. "Dad?" His voice is shaky, but he plows on. "What- You've been gone for almost two months, Dad! What the hell happened? Where are you?! We thought-" His voice is shaky and he can't continue.

"Son, I'm so sorry. Something came up, and I have to go. It's about your mom. I found out what happened."

"Wha- what do you mean, Dad? Mom's death..." He doesn't want to say it, but it seems like his dad had gone off the rails completely. He scared. "Dad, mom's death's an accident. She crashes into the telephone pole on her way to see me. You know that." 

John Winchester had been an obsessed man ever since his mom died. He cannot or will not accept her death to be an accident no matter what the police or insurance people said. He wanted to believe that there's something more. Dean tried to be supportive. He helped out however he can. He took care of the house. He took care of Sam. He listened to whatever John told him to do and learn whatever John taught him with vigor. 

Because he feels guilt. He can see it in the way his dad looked at him different since mom's death. See the sadness there, the pain and the grief. But he also see the hurt, the resentment and the bitterness buried underneath them. He tried to make up for it. He did his best. But his best was never enough. Soon, his dad went on a bender. And then it's like from bad to worse.

He began to see shadows or notice oddities in the house and he became obsessed with them. He became engrossed in mom's diary and her memorabilia. He plowed through her things and made up stories as he goes, convinced of the boogeyman he made up. Dean had been afraid, but he was just a kid. He knew no better. He followed orders like the good little soldier he was. 

Soon, his dad lost his job and he took it hard. He left them with then long time buddy and ex-brother-in-arm, Bobby Singer and just took off. They stayed with Uncle Bobby and Aunt Karen for a month. When John was back, he was clearer and more focused. He stopped drinking and put all his attention and mind onto his mom's case. He never shared what he found with them. Just wrote them all in his journal. Dean never asked. He was just glad his dad was sober again.

Then, it's been a long hard life on the road. They moved wherever the leads led them. His dad will leave them for weeks at a time. For his twelfth birthday, he got a black eye as a present and for his thirteenth, he'd made his own saw off gun. His dad had been proud and Dean was happy. That was his life for the next few years. Take care of Sam and follow Dad's order. 

It wasn't until he turned sixteen that he realized they're chasing ghosts. That the manhunt was just in his dad's head. His mom died in a car accident. That's the truth. But if his dad needed a ghost to make life livable, then who's Dean to stop him. But it was then that he'd stopped believing in his dad's mission. 

"Son, you listen to me and listen to me good. Your mom was murdered. And I've found out the real reason for it. I only need to figure out who. I need you, son."

"Dad, you left us. For two months. No news, nothing. We thought you were dead."

"Is Sammy alright?"

Dean's heart breaks and he can feel the familiar prick in his eyes. "Yeah, Dad. Sam's okay." He doesn't tell his dad what happened to him. How the past three weeks had been for him. The scars on his back, the rapes. He bites the inside of his cheeks and keeps quiet. 

"Good. I saw the news. Good job, Dean. You stood up to those men and you protected Sam. You fought well. I'm proud of you."

Dean wants to yell about how useless he was, how afraid. He wants to scream that how it was Castiel who had saved them, how brave he was and how he had sacrificed himself for them. But he can't. His dad is proud of him. Those four words sooth Dean's frayed nerves more than it should. All he ever wanted since he was little was to make dad proud. He can't believe this is how he earned his dad's approval. By robbing someone's else of their credit. Dean Winchester is a pathetic.

"Dad," he starts but his dad cuts him off. 

"Son, I need you to listen to me. I need you back in the game. But that lady I spoke to wouldn't allow me to take you. I'll be in Lawrence tomorrow. Is there a place you can go to without arousing any suspicions?"

Dean blinks, thinking. "There's this birthday party tomorrow that we're invited to. I can meet you there."

"Good. Give me the address." Dean repeats the Lisa's address off his head. His dad hums in approval. "Meet me there tomorrow at 15:00 sharp, Dean. Do not be late. I'll see you, son."

With that, Dean is left with a dial tone and a spinning head as he stares at the dead receiver in his hand. 

\---

Castiel climbs into his bed and lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling, his hands twisting on his stomach. His chest feels constricted and and heavy. He's afraid. Dean's dad is back. He should feel happy for Dean and Sam but instead he just feel doomed. Deep down in the pit of his stomach, he knows he's going to be alone again. With nothing but the promise of more unwanted touch to keep him company at night. 

His hands shake. The notion of going back to being someone's plaything, to be treated like trash leave a sour taste in his mouth. He doesn't know if he could do it again. The few days of reprieve in the presence of kindness and love he'd never known before made it impossible for him to go back to that life. The thought of Azazel's hands on his body makes his skin crawls. Even the reason he's doing this in the first place holds no comfort. 

Dean is going to leave him, he thinks resignedly fighting to keep the tears at bay. He's done crying. There're no more tears left. Just a hallowed emptiness. 

Just then, the door to his room opens and Dean wanders inside. He is pale, his eyes wide and wild. He looks shocked. Concerned, Castiel momentarily forgets his own insecurities and sits up. His blue eyes trained on Dean as he walks over, movements stiff and awkward. He collapses into Castiel's bed and stares down at his hands, mouth moving but not speaking.

Castiel's heart is thudding hard against his rib cage as if a bird is trapped within and is fluttering to get out. He doesn't know what to expect. It feels like a thundercloud just floated above his head and is about to strike. The feeling of doom blankets him. He swallows roughly as he waits for Dean to speak, not trusting his own voice. 

"That was Dad," Dean whispers like he cannot believe what he's saying. Castiel nods but keeps silent. He doesn't know what to say to that. So he waits. "He's coming for us." Dean looks up at him with wide jade green eyes. 

His heart sinks as he forces a smile on his face. He nods encouragingly as he says in a rough voice, " That's great, Dean." Every words feels like a stab to the heart. Crossing his legs in front of him, he takes Dean's hands into his own. "You must be happy. I'm sure Sam will be too." 

Dean nods then shakes his head. "I don't know," he says unsure. "He left us, Cas. And now he's back and he's all-" He sighs. "I just don't know how I feel about this."

Castiel frowns. "I understand why you're feeling conflicted. I would be too if it was my dad. But still, Dean. He's back and he's coming for you. You'll get to be with your family again. You'll get to leave this place." The last sentence is spoken softer than the others as his eyes lowered to their hands in Dean's lap.

Almost a minute of silence past before Castiel finds the courage to look up again. Dean is staring at him with those bright green eyes, a devastated look in them. Castiel smiles because there're nothing else he can do and leans in. He kisses Dean on the mouth chastely, closing his eyes. 

"When is he coming?" Castiel whispers. He doesn't want to know. But he has to ask. He needs to know how much longer he get to spend with Dean before he leaves. Forever. He needs to know so he can treasure every hour, every minutes down to the last second he can get with Dean. 

"3 pm. At Lisa's place."

Castiel's heart stops beating. That's tomorrow. So soon. He has less than 24 hours with Dean. Feeling his insides splinter, he lifts a hand to cup Dean's jaw. He kisses Dean softly on the mouth, their lips slip and slide against one another. Castiel nudges at his shoulder. Getting the hint, Dean leans back until he's lying on the bed with Castiel on top of him never breaking their kiss. He will cry and break tomorrow. But now, he doesn't want to waste any of their previous time together.

Castiel moves so that he's straddling Dean's thighs. Still locking lips, Dean rests his hands on Castiel's hips, holding him there. He finally has to let up, coming up for air. Their face are so close as he breathes into Dean's face. He loves how green Dean's eyes are. It reminds Castiel of the forest. The calm green pasture, the dew and the chirping of birds. 

He leans down and their noses touch as he slides their mouth together. Dean's eyes flutter shut but Castiel keeps his open. He wants to watch this, watches every one of Dean's expression, listens to all the small sounds he lets out and sears them into his brain. So that when he's all alone again, he can take them out and replay them in his head. 

Dean pushes against his hips, his hands a searing warmth on his sides. Castiel stops and pulls back, just a little. Dean opens his eyes and stares up at him. He looks like he's trying not to cry, his expression pained with guilt and a sort of helplessness. Castiel knows what he's thinking and he doesn't want to talk about it. He wants to avoid it until it comes and strikes him in the face, demanding his attention. So when Dean whispered his name, Castiel shushes him. 

"Shhh..." He strokes Dean's soft blonde hair with his hand, eyes never leaving his face.

"But, Cas-"

"It's okay, Dean. It's okay. Everything will be fine," he assures, leaning down so that their mouth are just touching each other. "We're fine," he mumbles, breathing the word into Dean's mouth. Then, he captures Dean's bottom lips and sucks on the soft flesh softly as he licks his way into Dean's warm mouth. His hand lets go of Dean's hair and traces down the side of his face. He lifts his chin up so that he can deepen their kiss and watches as Dean's eyes glazes over. With what, Castiel doesn't dare guess.

It isn't lust. Dean is aroused, his pupils dilating but the look on his face doesn't scream sex or hunger or lust. It's love and affection he sees in those green eyes. He knows it's stupid because Dean is leaving tomorrow but he opens his heart to it and responds in line. He doesn't want to stop himself from feeling and experiencing this. He thinks for tonight, he will let himself have this. He will let himself bask in all that is Dean and when tomorrow comes, he'll deal with it then. But for now, he needs this. 

He lifts himself up and braces himself on his elbow so that they could look at each other properly. "Dean, can I...?" he asks, face imploring, desperate. Dean seems to get what he means even without him finishing his question. He nods, as much as he could in his position underneath Castiel. 

"Yes, Cas..." he breathes. "Yes."

Castiel lets out a whine before he's back to mouthing at Dean's mouth, wet and sloppy. His hands come down to Dean's hip as he fiddles with the buttons on his jeans. Dean's hands ride up Castiel's back, pushing up his shirt in the process. It gets stuck in his arms and head so he leaves Dean's mouth for a second to pulls the offending material off him and throws it aside. Dean does the same, his own shirt flying across the room. 

Then he's treated to the sight of a half naked Dean lying in his bed, his lips red and swollen from their passionate kiss earlier. He looks so debauched and delectable, Castiel just want to ravish him. "Dean..." he gasps out, unable to reign in the awe in his voice. 

"Cas..." He loves how his name sounds coming from Dean's mouth. He dives in again, their mouth clacking as his fingers busy themselves trying to get rid of Dean's jean. When the buttons pop free, he pushes them downs, ungraceful and hurried. Dean lifts his hips up, helping until the jeans slips pass his ass and down his thighs. Dean wriggles and squirms until finally, the jeans slips off his toes.

Then frantic hands is on Castiel, on his ass, squeezing and grabbing before they go around and plucks at his jeans. Castiel is panting as he lifts himself that tiny bit needed so that Dean could wriggle his hands in between them to undo his buttons. He gasps when he feels Dean's hands on his erection, warm and callused palming him through his boxer. He grabs onto Dean's hip, hard before sliding his hand around to cup his ass. Dean moans into his mouth and Castiel swallows the sound greedily. 

He's so hard in his pant, he's leaking precome already, staining the front of his boxer. Dean must have felt it because then he teasing the head of his cock with his thumb and fore fingers, rubbing at the damp spot like his life depends on it. Castiel grunts as he leaks more precome at Dean's ministration. "God, Dean..." he moans, thrusting his cock against Dean's palms. He tightens his grip on Castiel's painfully hard cock and pumps him, slowly. 

Castiel groans as Dean does something wicked with his hands, a slight twist as he closes his fist around the head of his cock. Castiel couldn't take it. He pushes himself up and off the bed, growling. Dean looks up at him with lust filled eyes as he shoves his jeans and boxers down in one go. Then he climbs back on top of Dean, grabbing the waist band of his boxers and pulls. Dean gasps and arches off the bed as Castiel purposefully slides the band of the boxer teasingly over Dean's cock before dragging it off his long bowed legs. His cock bobs against his stomach, twitching as the slight chill air hits it. 

The sight of Dean's cock makes his mouth waters. It's curves upwards, erect and proud, the head glistening with precome. Castiel stares at it, transfixed, his mouth slightly parted. He knows he must look like a goon right now, drooling over the sight of Dean's cock but he doesn't give a single fuck. Right now, he needs to have that cock in his mouth. 

Scooting forward so he lies comfortably between Dean's spread thighs, Castiel licks his lips. He bends Dean's legs a little at the knees and slides his arms underneath them, resting his hands against Dean's protruding hipbones. He presses his thumbs at them and elicits a moan from the teenager under him. Castiel smiles and does it again causing Dean's cock to spurt more precome. He makes a note of that little titbit for later. 

Because Dean's cock is right in front of his face and he can't help it. He lets his tongue hangs out of his mouth, long and wet, and licks his way up from the bottom of Dean's balls to the tip of his cock. He hums at the taste of Dean, salty and musky against the flat of his tongue. A small dollop of precome dibbles down the head and Castiel is quick to lap it up. Dean who had been watching moans at the sight as he lets himself flops back onto his pillow. 

When Castiel wraps his lips around the head and sucks, Dean lets out a howl before quickly slapping his hands over his mouth. Castiel snickers, the vibration causing Dean to bites into the flesh of his palm. As Castiel swallows his down inches by inches, his eyes shoots up to watch Dean's face. Dean had pushed up onto his elbows, lust blown eyes fixed on Castiel's face as he pants, cheeks flushes and sweat glistening on his forehead. 

Castiel flushes hot knowing how he must look like. His lips is stretched wide around Dean's cock as drool steadily leaks to pool at the dark coarse hair below. He sucks, his cheeks hallowing as he fixed challenging dark eyes on Dean, taking him further down his throat. Tears springs into his eyes as he feels the tip of Dean's cock nudges the back of his throat. He relaxes and pushes further feeling Dean's cock slides past his gag reflex.

Castiel uses the drool around Dean's crotch to massage his balls, rolling them around in his hands. They never break eye contact throughout, Dean trying valiantly to stay upright on his shaky arms as Castiel does his best to break him. He still have one trick up his sleeve. He shoots Dean a mischievous look which is all the warning he gets before Castiel pushes the last few inches down his throat and swallows. 

Dean groans, his eyes rolling towards the back of his head as he bites into his knuckles. Castiel shows no mercy as he continues to swallow around Dean's cock causing the teenager to trash with his head thrown back as he almost arch off the bed. With his free hand, Dean grips onto Castiel's sheet, crumpling it up into a mess in his fist. Castiel has to hold him steady by his hips to stop his from thrusting up into his mouth, choking him. 

When Castiel pull off with an audible pop, Dean groans lifting a hand to cover his eyes. "Fuck, Cas... You're killing me here." Dean moves his hand away as he lift his head up to stare at him, desperation clawing at his features. "God, Cas. Your mouth," Dean comments hoarsely. 

His lips are red and swollen after being stretched so long around Dean's girth. There's a long trail of drool still connecting the head of Dean's cock to his lips. He knows he must look quite pornographic right now and he loves how affected Dean seems to be. He smirks, wiping a hand over his mouth. 

He crawls his way up Dean's body, his own cock bobbing against his stomach, hard and leaking. He pushes his hips down and they both moans as their erection glides against one another. Dean thrusts up, wanting to get more friction but Castiel is not having any of it. He braces himself over Dean, just out of reach. Dean grunts and flops back on the bed, staring grumpily up at him. 

Castiel just smiles back, eyes bright. He can feel this fire inside him. Castiel has had a lot of sex before but he has never once feel this. His blood is singing and a heat wave rushes through his veins. It's such a power rush like an adrenaline boost. He licks his lips. "Do you want me to fuck you, Dean?" he asks, barely recognizing his own voice. They are so low and hoarse, almost growl-like in quality. 

Dean shivers underneath him as his eyes blazed with want. He looks so lovely like this, all hot and bothered, flushing from his cheek down to his neck and chest. The tip of his ears are shining bright red and Castiel can't help himself. He flicks Dean's right ear causing the teen to gasp. 

"Please... Cas, please," he begs incoherently. 

"What, Dean? Tell me. Tell me what you want."

"I want- Cas, please. I want you inside me. Please..." Dean croaks, his eyes pleading and that's all he needs to hear. He springs into action, getting onto his knees between Dean's legs and reaches for the drawer. He opens them and grabs the condoms and lube inside. Throwing the lube on the bed, he's about to rip the condom wrapper when Dean's hand stops him. 

"I want to feel you inside me, Cas. Please?" Castiel gulps. He knows he's clean and after hearing that, he wants it too. He wants to be as close to Dean as possible. It might be his last chance. "Are you sure?" he rasps out. Dean nods.

"I've wanted this for so long, Cas. First day I saw you. When you still didn't know I existed." Dean smiles, lifting a hand to cup Castiel's face, thumb caressing over his lips. "You have a beautiful smile, Cas. You should smile more." Castiel leans into the touch, a small smile crooks up the corner of his lips. "Just like that," Dean says, smiling even wider. 

"I love you, Dean."

"I love you too, Cas. I love you so much, and I don't-"

Castiel puts a finger over Dean's mouth shushing him as tears starts to form in his eyes. He know what Dean's about to say and he doesn't want to ruin the moment. Leaning over, he presses a chaste kiss onto Dean's lip. For all the wild passion of earlier, now it's slow and intimate, soft and gentle. Castiel sits on his haunches as Dean bares himself for him. He squirts some lube onto his fingers and rubs them together, warming it up before he shuffles close. 

"Are you ready?" he asks softly.

Dean nods. When Castiel's lubed fingers brush over Dean's pink hole, he sighs. He rubs his fingers around the rim, spreading the lube around, circling his hole. Then, when he deems it slicked enough, he presses one finger inside. Dean moans, spreading his legs wider in response. Castiel fucks his finger in and out and when Dean gasps out for more, he pushes in another finger. He watches as Dean's hole widens to accept his fingers, watches as he scissors Dean open slowly.

Dean is panting and writhing on the bed and before long he's fucking himself back onto Castiel's fingers, begging for more. Castiel soon has four fingers inside Dean, stretching him out until Dean almost yell for him to get a move on. "Bossy," Castiel chastisizes earning a scoff from the teen. When Castiel withdraws his fingers, Dean whines at the loss. Without skipping a beat, Castiel slicks himself up and position himself at Dean's prepped hole. 

"Ready?"

"I've been for a long time, Cas. Get a move on!" Dean whines.

Castiel circles his cock around Dean's wet and slippery entrance, pushing but not entering yet. Dean huffs in frustration, leaning up onto his elbows and by the looks of it, about to demand Castiel to fuck him. Smirking, he pushes in without warning and moans. Dean is hot and tight, his channel fluttering and clenching around him.

Dean gasps, throwing his hands out to grab Castiel by the shoulder, mouth dropping open in a small 'O'. Castiel stare, unable to look away as he slowly but steadily pushes inside. They never break eye contact until Castiel bottom out. They both lets out a soft exhale, Dean shaking a little. Sweat is beginning to form at Castiel's forehead as he forces himself to stay still and waits until Dean has adjusted. 

"Is this okay? Did I hurt you?" 

Dean shakes his head. "No... It's just-" Dean is speechless, overwhelmed by emotion. He seems to be searching for the right words when his body calms. "Finally," he says as his hands slides up Castiel's shoulder to his neck and pulls him down for a kiss. Castiel lets himself be led, draping himself over Dean, one hand coming down to grab at his thigh pulling it up. 

Dean wraps his legs around Castiel's waist, pulling him in. "Fuck me, Cas..." he whispers into his ear. Castiel doesn't need to be told twice. He pulls his hips back, his cock almost slipping out of Dean before he thrusts in, hard and deep. Dean groans and Castiel repeats the movement, slow but hard thrusts until Dean is coming undone underneath him. Castiel can't even make out what he's saying except for a litany of more and yes and _Cas_. Castiel pushes up and braces himself on his hands. He wants to be able to see Dean when he comes. 

Quickening his thrusts, he angles them until he finds Dean's prostate. He knows he found it when Dean gasps, arching up. Panting, Castiel keeps his thrusts in that direction, repeatedly hitting that bundle of nerves inside Dean. He can feel his own orgasm approaching. Dean is losing it. His cock is leaking profusely onto his own stomach, bobbing with Castiel's thrusts.

"Cas... Cas... I can't. I'm going to come, Cas. Jesus, I'm going to come! CAS!" Dean whole body spasms, his mouth opens with a silent scream as his eyes squeeze shut. His cock twitches as he spurts all over himself, most of his come landing on his stomach but some even catches him in the neck and chin. The sight of Dean coming untouched make him gasp, his orgasm fast approaching. When Dean starts to clench around him, milking him for all he's worth, Castiel couldn't help it. He comes so hard, he blanked out for a moment. His cock spurts inside Dean, filling him with his release. 

He collapses onto Dean, spent. They lay like that, panting and breathing heavily as Dean wraps his arms around him. Castiel snuggles closer, his head on Dean's chest, content to just breath in Dean's scent, the sweat and heady smell of sex. He opens his eyes and huffs when he sees that he's practically lying in Dean's come. Lifting a finger, he scoops up a dollop of come and stuff them into his mouth. He makes a sucking noise as he savors the taste of Dean on his tongue. 

A groan sounds from above him. Castiel peers up to see Dean looking down at him, specifically at the finger still in his mouth. "You're going to be the death of me, Cas. Jesus fuck, that was... That was so hot," he mutters. Castiel smirks, leaning up to lick a stripe up Dean's chin, making sure to catch all the come there. Then he closes his mouth over Dean, letting him taste his own come on his tongue. Dean groans further, licking his way into Castiel's mouth. 

When he finally pull away, Dean is breathing heavily, and Castiel is no better. They stare at each other a moment before they both break out into a laugh. Soft, gentle laughs, their shoulder shaking. "I can feel you vibrating inside me, Cas." Dean laughs further at that, his eyes crinkling up.

"Yeah? Well, I can feel your heart beating on my cock," he retorts. Dean laughs even harder at that and Castiel finds himself laughing along. When they both settles down into goofy grins, Castiel pulls out. He watches as his come leaks out Dean's red and slightly stretched hole. He rubs his come around the entrance causing Dean to hiss. 

"Sorry! Did I hurt you? Was I too rough?" he asks, guilt tugging at him.

"It's call overstimulation, Cas. As much as I would love to go another round, I'm beat. All I want to do now is cuddle," he says, holding out his hands, a little pout on his face. "Don't tell Sam that." He is quick to add. 

Castiel shakes his head, smiling at how adorable Dean is being. He loves how Dean is all pliable and soft after love making, content, satisfied and happy. "You know how much I love cuddling with you, Dean, but we did promise Sam to get ice cream. If we're not back soon, he'll come barging his way into this room. So you might want to get decent before then. And preferably, come free." He indicates Dean's very much defiled body, at the come drying on his stomach and leaking out his hole. 

"It kills me to have to do this because you look so good with my come leaking out of you like that."

"Oh yeah?" Dean arches his hips up smugly, showing off. Castiel rolls his eyes. "But we need to get you clean up. Wait here. I'll get you a wet towel," he instructs, getting up and pulling on his jeans. Dean continues to lie in bed, grinning lazily up at him as he stretches, totally unconcerned about the state of his nakedness. Castiel shakes his head still smiling as he grabs a wash cloth and heads out the room. 

When Castiel enters the communal shower, it's empty. He stops in front of the sink and turns the tap on to wet the wash cloth. The water feels warm against his skin. Looking down, he watches the water runs over the cloth and his hands. His trembling hands. He wrings the clothes, trying to stop the shaking. But he ends up dropping the towel in the sink instead. 

He couldn't suppress the sob inside him any longer. It wrenches out of him, feeling like it tore something inside him on the way out. Tears starts to pour in earnest, drops of it falling on his hands before the running water washes it away. He's crying now, his shoulder shaking. He doesn't want to look up, doesn't want to see his pathetic self in the mirror.

He doesn't know how long he'd been crying but it couldn't have been long. Grabbing the wash cloth, he wrings out the water and shut the tap. Using one of his hands, he wipes the tear stain on his face and looks up. His eyes are red rimmed and there are still yellowing bruises scattered on his face. He smiles. Even to him, it looks more like a grimace than anything else. He tries again, this time making sure he means it.

He softens his eyes and curls the corner of his lips up, just a little. That seems better. More convincing. He can do this. He will let himself enjoy these last few hours with Dean and he will let him go when the time comes. He's not going to let Dean feel guilty for leaving him behind. He's going to be strong and he can put on this mask. 

He'll deal with the inevitable heartache once Dean is gone. He doesn't dare to think so far ahead, afraid of what he might do then. Deep breathe, Castiel. Take it one step at a time. Dean is still here. Go to him. He smiles at his reflection one last time before he turns away, towards where Dean is waiting for him. 

\---

The beeping sound in the hospital is starting to grate on his nerve. It's all he had been hearing over the last few days. The constant beeping, like a timer running out of time. He can't help but thinks of it that way. Not when during all those time, Michael's life is hanging by a thread. And all he can do was, well nothing. 

They were rushed to the hospital both in their own gurney. When they separated them, in a fit of insanity he now guesses, Lucifer had freaked. The sudden overexert of anxiety had caused him to black out. The next thing he knew, he was in a hospital bed, disoriented and drowsy. Still one thing remain front and center on his mind: Michael. Fortunately for him, a nurse was checking his vitals then and he had grabbed her arm, asking for Michael. 

Well, at least he thought he had specified Michael's name. But now that he thought back of it, it was more like a frantic repeat of, "Is he alive? Is he still alive? Tell me!" No wonder the nurse had freaked out. They had to put him under again because the stress had caused his heart rate to increase. And when he's all drowsy and pliant, he still wouldn't stop mumbling about Michael. To be honest, he's kind of embarrassed about how desperate he was acting. 

One nurse took pity on him and told him that Michael is still alive but his condition is unstable. That almost got him scrambling out of bed again. She said she couldn't say more because he's not family but that the doctors were working their best to help him. He couldn't sleep that night and he wandered the hospital searching for Michael. He found him in an isolated room with a nurse stationed in a small office outside. He had managed to sneak in and looked at his chart.

What he read almost made him passed out again. They had put Michael into an induced coma. The bullet in his chest had splintered off and part of the shrapnels had leaked into his bloodstreams. One of them is lodged in his brain. He stared up at Michael through the large window. It looked as if he's just asleep. He looked like his old self, not like he could die at any time. 

The rest of the days passed in a blur. He is often seen spending time with the nurses on duty with a cup of coffee in his hands. All he could do was wait. The doctors and nurses wouldn't tell him anything, but he found out anyway. They are uncertain of the course of action to take. There's swelling in the brain from the inflammation of the bullet being there. They have to operate soon, but it's a risky surgery.

The day they rolled Michael out, Lucifer almost lost his goddamn mind. He's not ready. He's not ready to lose Michael. He hadn't even told the man that he loved him. Or that he'd forgave him. But it's not a decision he gets to make. He was left to pace outside the surgery room feeling his heart going colder and colder as the hours dragged on. His body is making preparation for the worst. For the blow that would come if Michael doesn't survive. 

He stares at the unconscious man in front of him. The man who had caused so much hurt but came barrelling back into his life and makes him _feel_. He wonders if the reason it hurt so much was because he was already in love with Michael then. He can admit it now, to himself, at least that he loves Michael. He doesn't know when it happened, but it did. 

After Lilith and torture that follows, he thought he would never be able to love again. To trust. He associated love with pain. And he had made peace with that. He doesn't feel much to begin with. And the army training just set it in stone. So of course, he would have to go and fall for his partner and not knowing it until it was too late and he was two feet in. 

Michael's eyelids flutters and he stirs. Lucifer sits up in his chair and edges closer, his heart beating a drumroll against his ribcage. A groan escapes the man in front of him and then sparkling blue eyes are staring at him. Unseeing at first but then they focus. "Luke?" Michael whispers. His voice is hoarse and rough and Michael swallows looking around. "We're alive."

Lucifer huffs. "Speak for yourself." Michael had passed out right after he noticed Gordon leaving the room. "You almost died." He meant for it to sound flippant, but the break in his voice betrayed that. Michael lifts his eyes to him, wide and so blue. He tries for a smile but comes up with a sort of grimace instead.

"Not that easy to get rid of me, Luke."

"How are you feeling?"

"Honestly, like crap. What did they do to me?"

"Short version or long version?"

"I don't think I have the brain capacity for the long version. So make it short."

"The bullet broke off and ended up in your head. You were in an induced coma for four days. And they just performed an extremely risky operation on your brain 5 hours ago. The success rate was 30/70. You're lucky to still be alive."

"Shit, an induced coma?" Lucifer nods. 

"Did you hear nothing of the 30/70 success rate?"

Micheal make a psssh gesture with his hands and Lucifer almost want to strangle him. "I'm lucky where surgeries are concerned. What? Did you think this was my first rodeo? I've been on the road for a while, Luke." When he sees the distressed look on Lucifer's face, he adds. "My heart once stopped for a whole two minutes. And I'm still alive and talking. Induced coma though. That'd be my first."

"If this is your effort on trying to reassure me, I'm telling you that it's not working."

"You were worried about me?" Michael asks staring right at Lucifer. 

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be? You're my partner." A small smile starts at the corner of Michael's mouth threatening to grow bigger but he seems to be fighting it. 

"Does that mean you forgive me?"

"Well, I think it's hard to hold a grudge against someone who tried to kill you to save you, isn't it?" Michael keeps quiet. "Yes, I forgive you, Michael. I think I did a long time ago. I would have just shot you on sight if I hadn't. I'm not known for my talk first shot later tendencies."

"But- You didn't know then. The reason I shot you."

Lucifer shrugs. "Doesn't seem to matter." Michael stares at him curiously, searching his face. Lucifer is tempted to tell Michael how he feels but he's still scared. And Michae is fragile right now. It's not right to spring this on him. This isn't the right moment. They have other things to worry about right now. "The Feds were here."

Michael moves to sit up but grunts in pain. "Don't move. Just stay still. You need rest," Lucifer admonishes. Michael breathes in deep for a moment, head bowed before he lifts his eyes to Lucifer. 

"Did they figured out who you are?"

Lucifer shakes his head. "Not yet. But it's only a matter of time. We need to get out of here. Soon."

Michael brightens visibly. "Are you coming with me?"

"Do I look like I have a choice?" Michael's eyes dim. "Sorry, I didn't for it to come out that way. Old habits die hard I guess. I was pissed at you for a long time. Residual misplaced anger," he tries. 

"But what about the organization? If Naomi knows that you're still alive, she'll want your head. And probably mine."

"I know," Lucifer sighs. "At first, I thought it was about the money. That's why I've been pimping." Michael frowns like he trying to figure out what pimping has to do with anything. "I plan to buy out my hit." Michael's eyes widen. "I know it's unorthodox and it's not something you can just do. But I thought it was a worth a try. Plus, I wanted to know who put that hit on me. Did you happened to find out?"

"I did some digging, but Naomi was careful. She's the only one who had contacts with the clients. I tried breaking into her office but the security were too high and the men flanking her are not to be messed with. I'm sorry, but that information is something only she holds. Plus, it might be one of those jobs where the client wants to remain anonymous."

Lucifer sags back into the chair. "We can't go back, can we?"

Michael furrows his eyebrows like he does when he's thinking hard. "What if we can convince her that you're an asset to the organization?"

"I _am_ an asset! I'm a highly trained ex-special forces. No one who has seen my file wasn't impressed by what I can do. I don't know why she's being so obstinate about the fact that they did not train me. So what?"

"Humble as always, Luke." Michael shoots him an unamused look. "It's not what you can or can't do. The organization recruits internally, mostly children or teenager and trained them to be killers." Lucifer snaps his eyes up at Michael. That information is new. Staring at Michael's carefully blank expression, he wonders what kind of horror the man had faced. "It was not always that way. They used to recruit independent contractors and people like you who used to work for the government. But someone betrayed them. Someone close to Naomi. That's why she hates outsiders so much." 

"Okay, how does that helps us?"

"What if we can make her see that you no longer want anything to do with the government? Prove your loyalty? Your connections can be useful. You hold a high ranking position within special forces, and you're part of many covert missions. As you say, your file is impressive. That means you know things. People."

"You want me to betray my country?"

"Aren't you doing that already?"

"Killing assholes are not the same as betraying my people and the intel I have- if it gets into the wrong hands, it can be deadly. Michael, you can't ask me to do this."

"I'm not asking you to betray anyone or anything. All I'm asking is that we use this fact as a negotiation tool. Maybe that would sway Naomi. You know, sometimes we do get targets who works for the government and having you would be a big help."

Lucifer crosses his arms in front of him and frowns. "Before, you didn't want me anywhere near the organization. Now, you want me to bargain my way inside. You're really fickle minded, you know."

"That was different! We don't have to risk your life when nothing calls for it. But now, they're already out for your blood. And they know I'm here on the Walker case and- Fuck. They probably already saw the news. They know you're alive. We need to get out of here." Michael makes to move out of bed but doubles over in pain as he clutches his chest. Lucifer is on his feet in second, grabbing hold of Michael's shoulder and guiding him back to bed. 

"You just came out of surgery, idiot."

"I'm fine," he grits out.

"No you're not. Look at you! You look awful," Michael scowls at him, but he does indeed looks pale and shaky. Sweat clings to his hair on his forehead. 

"We need to leave. They could have sent someone by now," he bites out hunching on himself as his face grimaces in pain. "If they come, they're going to kill you. No question asks."

Trying to make light of the situation, he puts a hand over his heart and coos. "I didn't know you cared. I feel so touched." Michael glowers up at him, blue eyes shooting him a death glare. "Seriously, you should say things like that more often. It makes me feels appreciated." The glare Michael shoots his way turns deadlier. Lucifer laughs. 

"This is not a laughing matter. Your life is not a joke to me."

Lucifer sobers. "So does yours. Just so you know. Don't you ever do something like that again. You scared me half to death." He motions to the entirety of Michael in the hospital bed. The man grunts in consent. "Just- rest up. We can spare one more night. And tomorrow, we'll make our way to headquarter."

"So you agree then? To my plan?"

"It doesn't seem like we have much choice now, do we?"

"You can take off."

"To go where?" He shakes his head. "I rather stick with you if you don't mind." Michael's eyes brighten at that. 

"You're always welcome. Though I still think we should make our move tonight. I don't want to take the risk. I can rest in the car."

"Don't be stupid. The drive is going to jar you like crazy. If it makes you feel any better, I'll stay the night with you." Michael cocks an eyebrow at that and Lucifer bristles. He hadn't meant for it to come out that way. Not that he doesn't want that but this is not the right moment. "Get your head out of the gutter."

"What? I didn't say anything." He shrugs, hissing as it pulls a muscle. Lucifer rolls his eyes and pushes the man gently back so that he's lying down with his head on the pillow. Then, he tucks the blanket around him and returns to his seat. "Are you just going to watch me sleep? That's creepy," Michael mocks but his eyes are smiling. 

"Well, someone got to keep watch on the Sleeping Beauty." Michael narrows his eyes at him and glares. "Go to sleep. I'll keep guard." Michael nods and settles more comfortably on the bed. He leans his head to the side and trains his blue eyes on Lucifer. The dim light from the lamp beside his bed casts a shadow on his pale face making his expression indecipherable. They are quiet for a moment. Then, Michael turns his head away. 

"Be careful. Be alive when I wake up." His breathing grows even. Lucifer thought he had fallen asleep when Michael murmurs, "Goodnight, Luke."

His heart is doing all sort of things to him. Most of all, making him feels things again. Things that make his inside flutters. Shaking off the feeling, he turns his chair so that he has a good view of the door and windows. They're six stories up so he doesn't think the window would make much of an entry point but he can never be too careful. "Goodnight, Michael," he returns voice soft as he settles in to stand guard for the night.


	26. Chapter 26

When Castiel enters his room again with the washcloth in hand, Dean is still in bed. At least, he has his boxers on. And he's holding his analog camera in front of his face. There's a whirring sound, and a camera shutter goes off. Dean lowers the camera down a big grin on his face.

"How come I've never seen you use this before?" he asks turning the camera in his hands. 

Castiel shakes his head and walks over, throwing the washcloth at Dean. He attempts to snatch the camera from Dean's hands, but he holds it out of his reach. Rolling his eyes, he sits on the bed and pulls his legs up, crossing them in front of him. He glowers at Dean, but the teenager just smiles cheekily up at him. Grabbing the washcloth, Dean wipes himself down.

"I used to be the school's photographer. For yearbooks materials and events. Things like that."

"Not anymore?"

Castiel shakes his head. "Not anymore."

"Why?"

"I broke too many cameras." Dean frowns. Castiel sighs and adds. "Well, people broke them for me but I mostly got the blame."

"You mean bullies." Dean's voice is hard. Castiel nods and shrugs. "I never seen anyone bullied you. Trust me I would have noticed. I had been semi-stalking you the entire time I was there." Castiel raises his eyebrows. Dean blushes before he ducks his head. "What? I told you I had a crush on you," he mutters. Castiel can't help the smirk that tugs at his lips. 

"I'm flattered. I'm sorry I didn't notice you, though."

Dean waves a hand around. "Nah, you had a lot on your plate. I saw you with Lucifer once. And I saw those bruises on you. Part of me wanted to be your shining knight in armor and rescue you from that abusive asshole." 

"Why didn't you? You could have come up and say hi."

"Well, you don't seem to be that welcoming. You seem to live in your little bubble and I don't want to intrude. I didn't know all this were happening until I'm in it myself," he says gesturing to the room at large. "It's funny how people don't see things even when it's happening right under their noses."

Castiel looks at the camera in Dean's hands. "I'm a coward."

Dean turns angry eyes at him. "No, you're not. You're one of the bravest persons I've known. And I won't let you say that about yourself." Dean sits up and moves closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"If I had the courage to tell someone, to expose this. You, Anna and Tessa, would not have been dragged into this."

"Who would you have told? The cops are dirty. How would you know who to trust? And imagine if you go to your counselor or something and Crowley hears of it. What do you think he will do to you?"

"I should have told before he was part of it."

"Well, then you'll probably just expedite his involvement." Castiel looks up at Dean and worries his lips. He knows Dean is right. But that doesn't mean he still doesn't feel bad for it. He lowers his eyes to the camera again. Dean mistakes his look to mean that he wants to have a picture because he grins and holds it up in the air before them.

"What are you-?" Before he could finish his sentence, he hears the whirring sound and a click. He blinks. "Wait, I'm not ready yet. Again." Dean is laughing as he wraps his arm around his shoulder and pulls him close. They smile at the camera as it goes off. Dean tilts his head closer, the side of their head touching, hand stretches out in front of them as he presses the button again. The whirring starts and at the last minute, Castiel turns and presses a kiss to Dean's cheek just as the camera click. 

Dean looks at him in surprise but is replaced quickly with a smirk and gleeful look in his eyes. He pounces on Castiel and they both fall backward onto the bed with Dean on top of him. Dean presses little kisses all over his face. He starts with his forehead, then both his eyelids and down his nose. He kisses both his cheek and lingers above his lips before closing their mouth together. 

Castiel wishes this could last, that Dean would be with him forever. But that's not going to happen. His hands find the camera by their side on the bed and clutches it tight. At least, he now has proof that Dean exists and that this is real. That he was loved. 

\---

Dean trembles as he approaches his room with the ice cream cones in his hands. He's nervous. What is he going to say? That Dad is back and that he'll be taking them away? That all good and dandy but then Sam will want to know where he'd been and why he'd left them and what answers can he gives? 

Castiel places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. Dean turns his head towards him. He gives Dean a small encouraging smile. His presence help boost Dean's courage a little bit. But at the same time, make him feels guilty. Sam is going to hate him for this. He hates himself for this. He lowers his eyes, unable to hold Castiel's intense blue one anymore. 

Sucking in a deep breath, he turns the doorknob and goes inside. Sam is still busy scribbling on his drawing paper. His head tilts up at the sound, and he grins when he eyes the ice cream cones in Dean's hand. He squeals with delight and jumps off the chair, running right at him. Taking the cone from him, Sam is quick to unwrap the paper and bites into the chocolatey flavor.

"Thank you, Dean! And Cas!" he exclaims happily as he licks and bites and sucks at the nuts covered chocolate ice cream. Dean ruffles his hair, earning a smack on the hand for it. "Don't do that," Sam pouts brushing his hair into place again. 

"You know one of these days, I'm going to introduce you to something call the scissors." Sam sticks his tongue out at him and wanders over to the bed and sit. This is it then. This is the time. Clenching and unclenching his hands, he walks towards the boy and sit on the bed opposite him so that they're face to face. "Hey Sam, there's something I need to tell you."

"What?"

"Dad's back."

Sam blinks and lowers the cone. "What do you mean Dad's back? is he here?" He looks towards the door, searching. 

"No, um. He's not here yet. He will be though, tomorrow."

Sam stares at him wide eyed. "Is he coming back for us?" he asks in a whisper. Dean nods. Sam looks down at his cone as he processes this. Then, he bites his bottom lips a pinched expression on his face. "Where did dad go? Why did he leave us, Dean?" he asks fixing Dean with wide, sad eyes. Dean's heart break. He doesn't know what to tell hm.

"I don't Sam. But he's back now. Aren't you happy?" 

Sam seems to consider this for a moment. "I am. But I know he will go away again," he admits speaking to his knees. Dean doesn't say anything because he knows it's true. Dad never stay more than a few days at a time and then he would leave for weeks. The cones in his hand droops a little. Dean feels bad for bringing this up now before Sam could enjoy his ice cream. 

"If Dad comes, that means we're leaving." His head snaps to Castiel who had been standing by the door, quiet and out of the way like he's some sort of stranger. This isn't right. He straightens up a little when Sam looks at him. "That means we're leaving Cas." Sam voices out the thing that had been on their mind since Dean found out about John but had been too cowardly to say. The truth of it stamps home the reality of the situation. 

"Yes, Sam." Castiel voice is thick and his blue eyes are shining too bright. He doesn't make a move to come closer or to comfort Sam. He's holding himself stiff by the door like it's taking all his effort just to hold himself together. "But it's okay. I'm glad to have known you. And your brother." This time he looks at Dean.

Dean wants to fucking cry. This is so unfair. But before he can act out on it, Sam beats him to it first. "NO!" he screams. The ice cream falls to the floor as Sam runs towards Castiel and hugs him in the middle. "No, please I don't want to leave Cas." He turns tear streaked face at Dean his arms never leaving Castiel. "Please, don't leave him here alone."

At moment like this, he suspects that Sam knows more about what's going on than he let on. The devastation in his eyes, the despair on his face shows how scared he is for Castiel. "Please, Dean. I don't want them to hurt Cas just like I don't want them to hurt you. And they will if you leave him behind. Please, Dean. Please don't!" Sam cries. "Can we take Cas with us? Please?"

"Sam... You know how dad is."

"I don't care. I want Cas!" he cries as he buries his head in Castiel's stomach again.

Dean's head is a jumble of mess. Castiel is not looking at him but down at Sam. He has one hand around Sam's shoulder and the other soothing his head. He keeps making this shushing motion with his hands and mouth but his face- Dean's heart breaks at the sight. Castiel is broken. Silent tears falls from his eyes and he murmurs comforting words at Sam who is too distraught to hear them. 

Then Castiel looks up at him. Their eyes connected and they stay like that for a long time, just staring at one another while Sam sobs into the front of Castiel's shirt. The corner of Castiel's lip lifts up and he mouths, 'It's okay.' Dean's heart cracks a little further as Castiel lifts Sam into his arm and hugs him.

"Don't cry, Sam. You said I was brave. A brave person can take care of themselves. You don't have to be worried about me." He leans back a little so he can look Sam in the eyes. "It's sweet that you do, but you don't have to," he says, wiping Sam's tears away with his thumb. 

"But I don't want to leave you."

"But you have to. This is not a nice place. And I think you know that. I want you to leave. Both of you." He looks up at Dean then, eyes serious. "Then, I have two less things to worry about," he continues staring back at Sam. "And in a few months, I'll be 18. And I can get out of this place too. I can come find you then."

Sam wipes at his snotty nose. "Really?" He turns his head to Dean. "Can he do that?" Dean just nods his head dumbly. 

"See?"

"But how would you know where to find us? We move a lot. What if you can't find us and got lost?"

"Dean will make sure I know where you are. Right, Dean?" They both turns to fix their eyes on him. Again, he nods like the idiot he is. He hears what Castiel is saying but for some reasons, he sounds off. He's making these promises but it seems like he's resigned to breaking them. But why? Dean can make damn sure that keep Castiel updated on their whereabout. And if Castiel turns 18 and couldn't get to them for some reason, hell he'll come to him.

"Yeah, Cas. Of course. I know the home's number. I know the address. I _can_ keep you updated on where we are and what we do. Hey, we can be penpals for a few months. And then we'll be together again. Right?" he asks needing the confirmation. 

Castiel nods but his eyes are downcast. Dean doesn't like this. Something is wrong. But he can't press the issue with Sam here. He'll ask when they're alone. He's not going to let Castiel out of his life now that he'd seen what life is like with Castiel in it. He can't imagine a life without the blue-eyed teenager.

When the sun had gone down, and they're all cuddling together in Sam's bed, Sam in the middle, he asks. "Hey, Cas?" His voice is quiet so as not to wake Sam up. He's clinging to Castiel even in his sleep, his small hands clutching his t-shirt. Dean would be jealous if it also weren't so adorable. 

"Hm?"

"You mean it right? When you said you'll find us?" They are both staring at the ceiling watching the shadows play on it. The room is quiet and still. The only noises are the soft wind howling outside. The past few days had been windy. No rain, though.

"Of course, Dean."

"Why do I get the feeling that you're lying to me?" He hears some rustling on the far end of the bed and turns his head. Castiel had pushed up slightly on his elbow and is looking at Dean with big sad eyes. 

"Why would you think that?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. It's just a feeling I guess." He doesn't know why he feels like this. Like Castiel is somehow saying goodbye without actually coming out to say it. "I don't want to lose you, Cas," he admits. "Please tell me I'm not going to lose you." He knows it's selfish of him to ask Castiel of this seeing as he's the one who will be leaving, but he hurts. On the one hand, it's his dad and he can't say no to the man. But he doesn't want to hurt Castiel either.

"Dean, trust me when I say I will find you when I leave this place." Castiel's eyes shine bright in the dark and Dean can see the sincerity in them. The truth to what he's saying. But he can't help but feel that that's not the whole truth. Like there's something he's not saying. 

"Promise?"

"I promise, Dean." He pauses for a while, his eyes lowered and asks. "Are you going to call?"

"Of course. Whenever I get my hands on a phone, I'll call. Please make sure you'll answer them? That you will keep going no matter what happens and be there when I call?" Dean realizes with a sinking heart what he had been afraid of. Or what he's sensing from Castiel. It's dejection and resignation. Like he gave up. Fear creeps up his spine and he pushes himself up onto his elbow too. 

"Promise me you won't do anything stupid?" Castiel averts his eyes and Dean's heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach. "Cas?" Castiel looks up and meets his eyes, but his eyes are sad and despondent. They stare at each other over Sam's sleeping body. For how long, Dean can't tell. But his heart beats faster the longer the silence goes on. _Please..._

"I'll try." 

Dean closes his eyes and opens his mouth but before he could get any words out, Castiel's moving. He takes hold of Sam's hand on his chest and lay them on his pillow. Then, he slides out from the bed slowly, careful not to stir Sam. He walks around the bed and holds his hand out to Dean. He stares up at Castiel for a long time before he takes his hand. Castiel pulls him up and they fall into Dean's bed, a controlled fall. 

Castiel is lying half on top of him as he stares down into his eyes. He brushes a thumb over his cheek and leans down to kiss him. It's soft and gentle, chaste. "I love you, Dean. And I promise you I will try," he says against his mouth. A drop of tears fall onto his cheek and he opens his eyes. He didn't even realizes he had closed his eyes.

"Don't cry, Cas. If it's up to me, I would choose to stay here with you for the next two months until you turn 18 and we can leave together. I'm sorry I'm not brave enough to say no to my dad. He-"

Castiel puts a finger over his mouth, shaking his head. "No, don't be sorry. As much as I would love for you to stay, I can't be selfish. I can't expect you to stay knowing what will happen. You have a way out and you should take it. And I know how much family means to you. No matter what he did, you love your dad. And I'm not going to stand in the way of that."

"Two months. I just need to hang on for two months and we'll see each other again," he continues brushing a hair out of Dean's eyes. "But for now, can I just hold you?" Dean nods and let Castiel wraps his arms around him and pulling him close. He shifts so that he can put his arm around Castiel too and they lay like that for hours. 

Dean doesn't know how long they stay awake like that. Lying in the dark listening to their heartbeats and breathing. The both of them unwilling to let sleep rob them of the precious time they still have left together. But no matter how much he fights it, sleep finds him anyway. His eyes fall close against the dark tuff of hair tickling his face and he sighs. 

\---

"We're here!" Rachel exclaims as she turns around and smile at them. She glances up at the modest looking single story house with its white wall and red tiled roof. From here they could see the balloons in the back yard and what looks like a bouncy castle. "Looks like a lot of fun! You boys enjoy yourself and give me a call when you're done. I'll come and pick you up." 

"Thank you, Rachel." Castiel unbuckles the seat belt, giving Rachel a sincere smile. He opens the passenger side door and get out. Dean helps Sam with his buckle and grabs his backpack. Since they're leaving during the party, Dean had packed all their belongings. Lucky for them, they don't own much.

When they're all out on the pavement, they wave goodbye to Rachel, who honks before driving away. Sam takes Dean's hand on one side and Castiel on the other and drags them both in his excitement to get to the party. 

"Cmon," he whines. "I see a bouncy castle!" 

He pulls them up to the front door where a sign with an arrow pointing to the left is displayed. They turn down the small path to the back. The sound of laughter and children squealing and playing reach their ears. Dean looks over at Castiel whose eyes is twinkling with excitement but also with nerves.

Dean can understand that. He's not good with crowds either and they make him nervous. But at least, he has Sam and Castiel with him and Lisa is a friendly person so it can't be that bad. 

"Dean! Castiel! You made it!" Lisa exclaims as they enter the quite frankly, spacious garden. There's the bouncy castle in the corner and two long tables at each end of the garden filled with all sorts of food. From where Dean is standing, he can spy at least a tray of mini pies and is that mini burgers? His stomach growls at the sight. Sam is more interested in the dessert table with it's sugary delicacies if his laser-focused eyes on them are any indication.

"Lisa," Dean greets as he hugs the nurse. Lisa turns to hugs Castiel too. "Congratulation. Where's the birthday boy? Did you know that he and Sam shared the same art class?" 

"Really?" Lisa asks, looking down at Sam with a sweet smile on her face. Sam nods as he stares up at her. He nudges Dean with his arm and Dean takes the rolled up drawing paper from his inside jacket and hands it to him. 

"I've got a present for Ben." His eyes search around the area. "Where is he?" 

Lisa rolls her eyes and points towards the bouncy castle. "He's in the castle having the time of his life." She puts a hand up to her mouth and stage whispers, "It's how you get the ladies. True story. He said that to me. Word for word." Lisa shakes her head fondly. "Just like his dad I guess."

Dean laughs. "Ladies man I'm sure."

"Oh, don't I know it." 

Sam pulls at the hem of Dean's shirt and asks, "Can I go and find him and give him his present?"

"Of course. Go. Just don't cramp his style with your nerdy ass, okay?" Sam gives him bitch face #4 and runs off, drawing in his hand. Dean looks up and is pleased to see Castiel smiling dorkily after Sam too. Noticing Lisa staring at the both of them, a knowing smile on her face, he clears his throat. "Nice party," he says, gesturing to the little gathering. 

"Thank you." Lisa smiles then her expression turns to one of concern. "I saw the news. It's terrible. I wasn't even sure if you both will turn up. I'm really glad you all did. I know this is a stupid question but how are you feeling?" she asks, words lace with sympathy. 

"We're doing much better, Lisa. Thank you," Castiel answers. He looks like he means it too. Dean feels himself relaxes a little. "Castiel got shot," he can't help but adds. Lisa's eyes widen. Castiel shoots him an annoyed glare. 

"Don't listen to him. He's exaggerating. A bullet merely grazed me." He lifts up the sleeve of his t-shirt and show Lisa the healing stitches. "Dean always like to make it like I'm some kind of action hero who survived a massive shootout."

"You did!" Dean exclaims offended. "You're a hero. He just wouldn't admit it," he adds to Lisa, shaking his head. Lisa is smiling at them again with that knowing glint in her eyes. Dean blushes. 

"I'm just glad to you both again," she smiles. Then, she gestures towards the tables. "Feel free to grab whatever you want. I have plenty more in the kitchen. Don't be shy."

"Oh, you bet I won't." Dean grins back already walking towards the mini pies. Castiel stays back to mutter his thanks and apologies for Dean's manner before he powerwalks his way to join him. Dean smirks as he watches him flushes, throwing a mini pie whole into his mouth and chews. 

"Where are your manners, Dean? Did they all disappear the moment you saw food?" he scolds shaking his head as he also picks up a mini pie and bites into it. He's being purposefully well-mannered like he's showing Dean the way to behave.

Dean smirks and scoffs. "Or what? You'll spank me?" The words are out of his mouth before he could think twice about it, and his face burns as he realizes what he'd just said. Castiel's eyes widen and then darken with lust. He stuffs the remaining pie into his mouth and chews methodically. His eyes never leave Dean face as he swallows and licks his lips. 

"Careful, Dean. I just might," he warns in a low growl, his voice rough and husky like he's already aroused. 

"Oh yeah? At a kid's party? I highly doubt it, Castiel," he says using Castiel full name. Castiel narrows his eyes at him. He grabs two mini burgers, turns and walks away. Frowning, he grabs two more mini pies and follows. "Hey, where are you going? You're not offended are you?"

Castiel just turns his head around and give him a look. Then, he continues to walk purposefully towards the corner of the garden. Dean follows as he glances at the bouncy castle nearby and see Ben and Sam bouncing inside it, laughing. He smiles. Out of a sudden, a hand grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him forward. He would have trip if the arms supporting him aren't strong. His backpack, however falls to the ground beside their feet. The next moment, he finds himself back up onto the bark of a tree with a very heated Castiel in his space. 

Dean glances around frantically, noticing that they're in a blind spot behind a tree. He couldn't see anyone, so it's safe to assume that nobody could see them either. He turns back to face the devil whose face is an inch in front of his. "What were you saying, Dean?"

Somehow, in the period between being outside in public and now pressed up against the tree, he had lost his voice. He opens his mouth, but no words come out except for a small whine. His face flushes red when he hears it. Castiel smirks as he presses closer, their hips grinding against one another now. Dean can't help but thrust his hips upwards, needing more friction to his groin. 

Castiel, the jerk, shifts back so that Dean ends up thrusting the air. He groans in frustration and open his eyes to glare at Castiel, who's staring down at him with a hungry look on his face. His blue eyes are blazing and the look he's giving Dean is so intense that he feels it like a physical caress on his skin. He shudders and feels his cock twitch at the attention. Jesus fucking christ! 

Without warning, Castiel leans down and a pair of soft warm lips are on him. His lips part automatically and Castiel shoves his tongue in beside his. He licks and tease his mouth, their kiss wet and sloppy and dirty. But it feels so good, Dean is moaning into it, his hands coming up to crumple the front of Castiel's shirt. Castiel growls in warning before he takes hold of his hands and put them at Dean's side. He clenches them at his side and have to clamp down onto his thigh as Castiel's hard line presses into him. 

"Shhhh... You have to be quiet." Castiel kisses down his jaw, sucking and biting his way down his neck. Dean has to bite down on his lips to keep from mewling and gasping out loud. "Can you be quiet for me, Dean?" he mumbles into Dean's ear, nipping at his earlobe. Dean mewls and nods. Castiel huffs. 

"That's not being quiet, Dean. You have to do better than that. Or do you need me to put my hand over your mouth? I rather not. But if you can't be good..." 

Dean is shaking his head now. Fuck, this is so hot. Castiel going all dom-like on him is so freaking hot! He's surprising how much this is turning him on. He's not the kind to like giving over control. To submit. But with Castiel, he feels like he can. And he wants to. "I can be good," he rasps out, hardly above a whisper, but Castiel heard it. He nods, smiling appreciatively. He lifts a hand to stroke down Dean's cheek, eyes half close as he stares at his lips. 

"That's my good boy." 

Dean shudders at the praise, closing his eyes. Castiel words soothe the raw nerves inside him, mellowing him out at the same time as keeping him on the edge. It's insane how much he wants to be good for Castiel. To see that proud expression on his face, to see evident that he did good. It's almost like a drug how addictive the feeling is. He shudders again.

Castiel's fingers are trailing a soft line down his neck to his chest. A tingle runs down his spine when Castiel brushes a nipple. He bites the inside of the cheek to stop the whine that wants to escape. Castiel seems to sense his silent response, though because his fingers are back. And they're playing with his nubs, rubbing and pinching them. Dean squirms under his ministrations, but he tries to stay still. 

"You like that, don't you?" Castiel asks in wonder. Dean opens his eyes and the look Castiel is giving him almost makes him close his eyes and moans again. They're blown to bits, the pupils eclipsing the blue of his eyes. His mouth is slightly parted and he's flushing, pink high up on his cheek. "Answer me."

"Y-yes." Dean is breathless and when Castiel takes hold of his nub and pinches, hard, he almost arches off the tree bark. His mouth opens in a silent scream and he almost creams his pants like a 13-years old. But Castiel doesn't let up. His rubs his thumbs and forefinger over the tortured nub, eliciting a tingling pained sensation to shoot through him again and again. Dean is gasping now, overstimulated. "C-Cas, s-stop or I'm going to come in pants," he pants.

Castiel lets go, and Dean heaves a sigh of relief. It's short lived though because both of Castiel's hands comes up and flick at the sensitive nubs. Dean cries out forcing Castiel to slaps a hand over his mouth. He stares at Dean warningly and waits for him to nod before he lets go. Dean is reduced to a withering bumbling mess as he stares at Castiel. 

Castiel hums to himself as he lets his hands trials down Dean's body, resting on the top of his jeans. He puts both hands on his hips and uses his thumbs to massage his hipbones as he grinds their erection together. Dean digs his nails into his thighs. The delicious friction between their groins is sending Dean reeling. He thumps his head back against the tree trunk, wincing at thud. 

Castiel turns dark almost black chastising blue eyes at him, shaking his head. Dean gulps and lifts his head slightly so Castiel could slip his hand between his head and the trunk, cushioning him. Dean's grip on his thighs is so hard that he is sure he bruised himself. He wants to grab onto Castiel, but he's not allowed. The restriction makes it even more alluring and Dean has never need more than he does right now.

It's weird how arouse Dean is by this. To be told what to do and be trusted to follow through with it. If he wants to, he could just grab hold of Castiel. But somehow he knows that would displease him and he doesn't want that. Especially not when Castiel is all domineering and possessive like that. He positioned his body to lock him in place and keep him away from the public eye. Just from his stare alone pins Dean where he is, not able to move a muscle and not wanting to. 

Not that he wants to. He's there for Castiel to do whatever he pleases. The notion of giving himself to Castiel, wholly and fully, body and mind, is so overpowering it leaves him weak at the knees. To trust someone else with yourself and knows deep in the recess of your mind that the person will take care of you. That there's nothing to be afraid of. The idea invokes something in him, unleashing a part of himself that he never know exists. In a way, it feels like a sort of freedom.

"Cas... I can't. I'm going to come." 

"No, Dean. You have to hold it. I know you can do it," Castiel whispers in his ears. "I know you can be my good boy." Dean is shaking his head, desperation clawing at him. He can feel his orgasm approaching, feel the build up in his groin. His muscles are tensing up in expectation of the oncoming onslaught. But Castiel keeps murmuring words of encouragements in his ear and Dean, well he's fucked. 

He needs to come so badly and yet, he wants to give Castiel this. Wants to give Castiel total control over his body. So he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to control his breathing. He calms himself down and knows he's doing a good job when Castiel's voice grows pleased and happy. Proud. "Good boy." Dean whimpers as he shakes, everything feels too warm and too much.

Castiel's fingers find his nipple again and he arches into it. "Do you want to come, Dean?" He nods frantically unable to speak for fear he might lose control. "How bad do you want to come?" He stares up at Castiel desperately, tears stinging his eyes. Castiel teases his nipple as Dean shakes his head, mouth open and panting. He can't take it. 

"Please," he begs. "Please let me come."

Castiel put a thigh between his legs and press at the same as he takes a nub into his fingers and squeezes. "Come, Dean." And he does, his muscles screaming in protest as they lock up and his cock twitches in his pants. His vision whites out and his knees buckles. He thinks he might have slides to the ground if it isn't for Castiel still pressed up against him. 

This has to be one of the longest orgasms Dean ever had. His cock keeps twitching and every spurt of come leave Dean flying higher. Then, Castiel flicks his nipple and it's almost painful how his cock his forced to come again. He trashes in place. His tears squeeze out the side of his eyes as he clenches them shut, unable to withstand the onslaught of such an intense orgasm. 

"Don't hide those pretty eyes from me, Dean."

Panting, Dean lifts his head up and meet Castiel's eye. It's difficult to maintain eye contact when he's just been reduced to an incoherent mess in the middle of a 6-years old birthday party. But still, he holds on as his cock give one last feeble twitch and all his strength is drained from him. His vision is blurry and he's exhausted, but he'd never felt better in his life. He's wrung but in the best possible way. He collapses into Castiel's arm, a droopy smile on his lips.

"You're so beautiful, Dean. You should have seen yourself. Amazing," Castiel praises, his voice awed as he strokes Dean's sweaty hair. Dean is too tired to let out anything more than a grunt. Castiel laughs a soft gentle sound. "Is that alright? Are you okay?"

Dean exhales as he lets out a laugh. "More than okay, Cas," he breathes out. Feeling more like himself, he leans back to take a good look at Castiel. "What the hell was that? Not that it wasn't hot or anything because damn it was, but what the hell?"

Castiel has the decency to blush as he lowers his eyes. "I don't know. I've never felt that way before."

He tilts Castiel's head up and smiles. "Me too. That was intense. But I like it," he admits. "I like it a lot. Like it when you boss me around," he confesses feeling his face heats up. 

"Yeah?" Dean nods. "Good, because I like it a lot myself too. We should explore that."

"We should."

Castiel smiles, but then his eyes dim. "Soon," he says. Dean feels the high from his orgasm evaporates as he remembers. Oh yeah, he's leaving. It's so easy to forget because being with Castiel is so easy. He makes Dean happy. Makes him feels like he can forget the world even for just a minute. 

"Soon," he promises. 

Castiel glances down at their jeans and grimaces. "I think we both need to clean up."

"I couldn't agree more." They lock eyes for a moment before they burst out into laughter. 

\---

Lucifer puts the car into gear as he waits for Michael to hop into the car. He had gone back to the crappy apartment to get Michael's things and made a stop at the home to get his own. He thought he'd be able to say goodbye to Castiel before they leave but he can't seem to find the boy anywhere. Neither was Sam and Dean. He's happy he didn't bumped into Rachel though. It would raise some awkward questions. 

He still feels a sting in his chest for leaving without saying anything to Castiel though. The niggling feeling in his chest wouldn't abate even as Michael settles into the seat beside him. He stares at his hands on the steering wheels. When he hears the click of Michael's seatbelt, he places his hand over the gearbox to shift it to drive. Michael's hand stops him though.

Lucifer frowns and looks over at Michael. He looks constipated and uneasy. His confusion grows into worry. "What is it?"

Michael indicates the parking lot before hunching in on himself. Feeling nervous now, Lucifer starts the car and pulls it into the parking lot. Once parked, he stalls the car and turns in his seat to face Michael. "Is everything alright?" he asks, concerned.

Michael is not looking at him. Instead, his gaze is focused on the glove compartment in front of him. After a minute of not getting a response from the man, he places a hand on Michael's shoulder. "Michael?" A twitched in the jaw and a sighs is his only reply before Michael raises carefully blank eyes at him. 

"Azazel dropped by earlier."

"Okay."

"There were new evidences in the case."

Lucifer remains silence, waiting for Michael to continue. But when the man stayed steadfastly quiet, he prompts "What evidences?" The way Michael is acting, it feels like pulling teeth just to get him to talk. Michael turns back toward the windshield, eyes squinting at the glare of the sun. He speaks in a resigned voice. 

"CSI found Walker's mobile phone two days ago during their last sweep of the factory. It was dead at the time, but they charged it up. They found something incriminating."

"You mean the video where they raped and tortured Castiel?" he asks anger seeping in his voice. He was furious when he learned about what happened to Castiel but after watching the video, he saw red. Michael hesitates.

"Yes and no."

"Jesus, Michael. Stop beating around the bush and tell me."

"He recorded his own murder, Luke." Michael looks up at him then, blue eyes bright. "That recording showed that Castiel killed him. And _not_ in self defense. The Feds was granted an arrest warrant for Castiel this morning. They should be on their way now."

Lucifer feels like the floor beneath his just disappear. Fear grips him. Is that why Castiel wasn't at the home when he visited? No, that can't be it. He would have sensed the tension in the house if it happened. He had bumped into Anna and apart from avoiding him, she hadn't looked troubled. Castiel must still be out there somewhere.

"We have to get to him before the Feds does," he blurts out surprising himself. Michael stares at him, his face expressionless.

"And do what?"

"I don't know yet. But we can't let the Feds get their hands on him. If they do, it'll be over. Castiel is going to jail."

"You don't know that. He's a minor. And considering the circumstances, the judge and juries might be sympathetic. He might not go to prison, Luke."

He stares at Michael in disbelief. "Are you saying that we should leave him behind? When he was the one who saved us? Saved you? Without him, you and I would both be dead. Hell, Turner was about to kill you when Castiel shot him. Don't you think we owe it to him not to see him end up in prison?" He pauses then breathing hard. "He's not going to survive prison," he realizes.

Before Michael opens his mouth to protest, he adds. "What do you think is going to happen? Once the arrest is made, they will look at him as a killer. When they do, all the evidences are going to back up that theory. That fucking video not withstanding, don't forget we both wore gloves. The only prints on my Glock is Castiel's. I used that gun to killed the Morgan brothers _outside_ the room. There were no signs of struggles. What conclusion do you think the Feds is going to make?"

"Luke, they will figure out who you are sooner or later. When they do, it'll be obvious what happened. Castiel won't be framed for the murders you committed." On some levels, he understands what Michael is doing. He's trying to be rational about this but that just pisses Lucifer off.

"Fine! But there's still the chance he will go down for Walker's murder. Hell, maybe they'll charge him with triple homocide. He did killed Turner and Malin. We both know it was in self defense but without our testimony, what do you think they're going to say? That video will show a person taking the law into his own hands. And I'll be damn before I let that son of a bitch Walker dragged Castiel down with him. No."

Michael sighs. "What are you suggesting?"

"We take him with us."

"Luke-"

"I know our lifestyle isn't ideal. But at least, we can protect him. We can give him his life back." When he sees Michael gearing up to protest, he adds. "We're not going to force him. We tell him the truth and let him decides. But I want him to know that there's a way out if he wants it."

"You really love him, don't you?" Michael says, his voice quiet. Even though he ends the sentence with a question mark, it wasn't a question. More like a statement. 

"That's not what this is, Michael," he gripes frustratedly. Jesus fuck, Michael thinks he's in love with Castiel when it's the other way around. He loves Michael and had used Castiel unfairly and he owes it to the boy to at least do something right by him. Lucifer might owe him for the rest of his life for what he did to him. The emotional damage he inflicted had already taken roots. "I have to do this."

Michael stares at him for a long time. For awhile, he's afraid Michael is going to protest. It's Michael's house they're going back to. His home. His sanctuary. Not a home for the lost and damaged. And he's asking him to let in a stranger inside. He knows it's a lot to ask so he wouldn't be surprise if Michael rejects the idea. For all his exceptions for Lucifer, Michael is a reserved person. 

"Okay."

Lucifer blinks thinking that he'd heard wrong. "Okay?"

"Yes. Now, let's go before I change my mind. And don't forget we still have the whole mess with Naomi to settle. Keep that in mind before you go dragging Castiel into this."

Lucifer is smiling as he starts up the engine. "I haven't forgotten. We have a plan remember? I'm not afraid. Honestly, I think you're more afraid of it than me. You underestimate me. I'm not ex-special forces for nothing, Michael. Your course of action was a little overboard and dramatic than the situation calls for." 

Michael splutters. "You don't know these people like I do! You'll be dead before you know what hits you."

"You keep saying that. I just think you have the sweets for me." He turns over to Michael and winks. "Don't worry. I won't die on you and leave you alone to be an old man with more cats than you could count." Putting the car in gear, he pulls out of the parking spot. His heart is beating like a maniac but he puts his neutral expression on. 

Why is he flirting? This is not how they converse with each other. Or interact, for that matter. Jesus, get a grip before you blow your cover and ruin everything. Michael is staring at him, mouth open before he snaps it shut and crosses his arms, glaring out the window. 

"You're insufferable you know that? And where did the hell did you even get that mental picture? I don't even own _one_ cat," he gripes at the window. Lucifer shushes him, and he turns and glares daggers at him. 

He has his mobile phone out and is scrolling through his recently call list. He taps dials and waits, two hands on the steering as he turns onto the main road. His phone is connected to the wireless in the car enabling him to drive and talk at the same time. The dial tone can be heard throughout the car via the sound system. Michael is staring at his phone curiously. The line connects and a female voice comes through. 

"Hello, Rachel speaking."

"Hi, Rachel. This is Lucifer speaking. I'm sorry, but I'm in a rush, so I don't have time to explain. But do you know where Castiel is? I dropped by earlier, but you weren't there."

"Oh, that's because I was dropping them off at a birthday party. Dean, Sam, and Castiel were invited. I thought it'll be good for morale for them to go. Considering what happened..."

"Great! Can I have the address, please?"

"Yes, sure. Hold on." There's a pause before she's back again and rattles off the address. He looks over to Michael who also has his mobile phone out and is typing the address into Google Maps. He looks him and nods indicating that he's got it. 

"Thank you so much for your help, Rachel."

"You're welcome. Would you be coming back today? I wasn't notified about it." There's a commotion on the other side of the line. "Hold on, I think someone is knocking on the door." Lucifer's heart speeds up and he glances at Michael. He ends the call and floors the pedal. 


	27. Chapter 27

The birthday party is going on at full force. More and more people arrive with kids of their own. After their impromptu make-out session, they had been behaving accordingly. But each time their eyes caught, they have to turn away to stop from bursting into laughter. Castiel is surprise how he could still have it in him to laugh when he knows in about an hour, Dean will be leaving.

Sam is running towards them, a drawing in hand. A young boy around his height is right behind him. He has dark brown spikey styled hair and is wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. He has a cocky look about his but in a friendly manner, much like Dean. They're both grinning from ear to ear and flushing.

"Dean! Cas! See what Ben drew for me!" Sam squeaks flapping the drawing in their face as he jumps up and down. Dean widens his eyes comically and makes a grab for the drawing.

"Geez, calm down Sam. Let me see." Dean holds the paper in front of him and makes a show of appraising it. Castiel bites back a smile. "What is it?" He ends up saying.

"God Dean, you're hopeless," Sam says as he snatches the drawing back. "It's Bumblebee! Duh." He rolls his eyes as he indicated the yellow robot on the paper. "He's a transformer. How could you not know this?"

Dean smirks and ruffles Sam's hair much to his annoyance. "I was just joking." He turns his attention to Ben then who staring up at them both with a curious expression. "You must be Ben. I'm Dean, and this is Cas." He holds out his hand. "Happy birthday!"

Ben takes Dean's hand and gives it a firm shake. Castiel holds out a hand too. "Happy birthday, Ben," he wishes as well.

"Thank you! Isn't my party cool?" he asks excitedly motioning around. "Mom is the best!" 

Dean laughs. "Yeah, your mom is definitely something."

Ben squints at them then. "Were you bullied too?" Castiel blinks in surprise, and he glances at Dean seeing him do the same. Then, his face turns into one of concern. 

"Why do you ask?" Ben looks uncomfortable but then he motions to his face in general. "Your bruises," he says in explanation. Castiel's eyes widen with comprehension. They both still look worse for wear with yellowing brusies and Dean's case a ugly looking cut on above his eye. He's surprise no one else mentioned it. Maybe they're all being polite.

"Ah, you should see the other guys." Dean waves it off. But then he kneels onto the grass so that he and Ben are eye level. "Hey, someone's been bullying you at school?" he asks gently. Not pushy yet not noncholantly either. Ben shifts in his place. Sam stares at him as he cluthes the paper in his hands.

"No," Ben answer at last but he wouldn't meet anyone's eyes.

"Well, I didn't think so anyway. But if you were, I would tell you that, those bullies are actually coward. You stand up to them once, _once_ , and they'll leave you alone. Right, Sam?"

Sam nods. "Yeah. This jerks-"

"Language, Sam."

Sam glares at Dean but amends his word. "This _boy_ in my school before this one used to shove me around. He's mean. And big. No one dares to say anything. Dean saw the bruises though and he wants to kick his butt but I told him no. I can handle my own problem." Sam chest puffs out as he says this. 

"The next day, when he shoved me again, I told him that he was a bully. And that no one liked him. And that he's sad." Ben's eyes widen. 

"What did he do?" he whispers.

"He hit me." Sam shrugs. 

Ben frowns. "How does that help at all?"

"That's the last time he bullied me. He left me alone after that."

"Really?" Ben ask as if he can't believe that that's what happen.

"Like I said. Bullies are coward. You fight back once, and they'll pee their pants," Dean mocks but without jibe in it. Sam giggles at that. Ben looks at Dean and Sam consideringly. Then, he smiles.

"Okay. Hey, you want to see my birthday cake? We're about to cut it!" His eyes gleam with excitement as he claps his hands. Sam stares up at Dean, bubbling with energy. 

"Sure! Sammy, you go with Ben. We'll drop by later, okay?"

"Okay!" And with they both rush off towards the house where Castiel assumes the cake must be to keep cool from the sun. He turns back to Dean who's smiling at him, his eyes going soft and tender. His heart skips a beat at the look. Bashfully, Dean holds out a hand.

Castiel stares at it for a moment before he takes it. Then, Dean is leading him away from the party towards the front of the house. It's quiet here, the noise of the party a background noise at the back. The leaves rustles as the occasional wind whistles by. He moves to sit on the pavement at the side of the house. Castiel follows.

They watches the road in front of them for a while, just taking in the suburban houses. He pulls up his legs in front of him and hugs his knees, observing. There's an elderly couple down the street sitting in the sun enjoying their tea. A lawnmover is being use somewhere down the road, the whirring sound adds to the apple pie life mood of the place. Dean leans sideways and nudges him with his body.

Castiel turns and smiles at the dorky expression on Dean's face. "What?"

"Nothing." 

Castiel shakes his head but he's smiling. He leans his chin on his knees as he stares ahead at nothing in particular. They're silent for a moment. It's not awkward or uncomfortable but more companionable. It's just nice to be sitting there and not think or worry for a while. Dean's presence by his side helps. 

"Cas, you know I'm going to miss you, right?"

He closes his eyes. "I know. And I'm going to miss you too." Dean siddles closer beside him. Their body are touching from shoulder down to their ankles. Dean wraps a hand around his waist and pulls him closer. He lets his head rests on Dean's shoulder and sighs when he feels Dean kisses the top of his head. It all feels very bitter sweet. Sweet because he's happy and content at the moment. Bitter because he knows the moment is going to end soon. 

The sound of a car screeching around the corner draws his attention. He opens his eyes and straightens in alarm when he sees that the car is heading right at them. They scrambles to their feet just as the car screeches to a brake in front of Lisa's house. The door opens and Lucifer steps out. His expression is grim and his gait is hurried. Castiel's heart speeds up. Something is wrong.

"Luci? What are you doing here?" he asks surprised. Lucifer glances over at Dean and nods once, acknowledging his presence. Dean shifts, moving just so, so that his body is shielding him from Lucifer. The action is sweet but not necessary. He doesn't believe Lucifer is here to harm him. 

"Cassie, can we speak in private?"

"Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of me," Dean retorts, voice harsh. 

"Dean..." he warns. But Dean ignores him, standing firm. 

Lucifer narrows his eyes at Dean and shifts his icy blue stare between the two of them. Castiel can see the moment it clicks in his head by the way his expression smoothens out. 

"I see. Well, if that's the case then I'll just break the news. The Feds have found a new evidence that incriminated you as a murderer, Castiel. They're on their way to arrest you as we speak."

"What?" Dean yells, shocked. "What evidence?"

"Gordon set up his mobile phone to record his last moments." Lucifer's blue eyes meet his own. "I don't supposed you need me to tell you what's on it?"

Castiel blinks. He hears the words out of Lucifer's mouth but his brain seem to be having trouble processing what it means. He continues to stare blankly at Lucifer unable to move or speak.

"What does this mean? Is Castiel going to jail? But it was self-defense!"

"It wasn't self-defense when I killed Gordon. You know that, Dean," he speaks, voice flat and without inflection. It feels like his emotions are trickling away from him and he starts to numb all over. Dean turns to stare at him. His emerald green eyes shine with unshed tears. He should feel something seeing Dean cries but all he feels is a vast of nothingness. 

"Cas..." The way Dean is saying his name, it feels like he's trying to coax a cat down a tree. Slow and gentle. Careful. Maybe he's right to be careful. Castiel feels like he's just one step away from breaking off completely from the realm of reality. Dean places one gentle hand on his shoulder. His thumb rubs a soothing circle on the side of his neck as he presses their forehead together. Their eyes catch and he focuses on the green orbs in front of him. 

"Stay with me," he whispers. "Don't blank out on me, Cas. Stay." Castiel blinks and feels himself starts to cry, his body trembling. 

"They're going to arrest me, Dean," he chokes out. "They're going to put me in jail." The trembles on his body intensified and he's shaking violently now. "I can't go to jail. I can't, Dean. I can't..." He shakes his head, desperately wishing for Dean to understand what he means by that. His knees feel weak and he feels himself going down. If Dean wasn't holding on to him, he would have crash to the graveled pavement.

Instead, they both drop down to the ground at a slow pace. He pulls his knees up and hugs them, closing in on himself. A beep is starting in his ears drowning out all the sounds around him. All he hears are his own panicked breaths and his rapid heartbeats. He hides his face in his knees. He can't stop the images of Gordon and his men jeering down at him. Their faces as they taunted and tore into him. He can still feel their phantom touches on his body, the pain from every punch and blow on his flesh. 

Someone is shaking him. Strong firm hands grabbing his shoulders. Stop it, he wants to yell. He crawls further into himself, trying to cut off the images bombarding him. He pictures himself standing in a clearing in the middle of the forest, on a patch of grass. The sun is shining on his face and he tilts his head up, savoring the warmth spreading across his cheek. He closes his eyes.

_Cas!_

He opens them and looks around. The forest is so green, the color filling his vision. He stares unblinking, not really processing what it is that he's seeing. He just stares. There are gold speckles among the green like the color of autumn leaves. They're beautiful. The colors sooth him and he feels himself relaxes. 

_CAS!_

He blinks as he feels something hits him at the side of his face. It stings. He blinks again. The green gold speckles focuses. There's a familiarity to them that pulls at Castiel. He knows them. He blinks again, feeling the bubble he wraps himself in wobbles. He doesn't want to wake up. He wants to stay here. Where it's safe. It's dangerous out there. He shouldn't wake up. But whatever it is that he's seeing doesn't want to let him go. They pulls at him, pleading until Castiel feels himself slowly resurfacing. 

"Dean?"

"Cas! Yes, Cas it's me! It's Dean! Please come back..." a familiar voice cuts through the fog. The person who is speaking sounds frantic, desperate, their voice breaking. "Cas!" Someone is slapping his cheek again and he snaps out of the fugue he's in. He realizes he's staring into the depth of Dean's eyes, bright with unshed tears. As he watches, a tear slips and rolls down his cheek. He lifts a hand to it, feeling the wetness of the tear on his finger.

"Why are you crying?"

"Why am I crying?" Dean exclaims, his voice high. Without warning, he grabs Castiel around the neck and hugs him. "You blanked out on me," he murmurs into his skin. "Don't do that again. _Please_." He sounds so scared and afraid, his arms tight around him. Castiel is slow to react, but he returns the hug, patting Dean's back to sooth him. 

Suddenly the hands around his neck is gone and someone else is kneeling in front of him. "Castiel, we don't have time for this. Listen to me." Lucifer slaps his face hard, whipping his head to the side. He raises a hand to his left cheek, feeling the burn there. He stares up into the familiar steely blue eyes.

"Michael and I are leaving the city. You can come with us. We can protect but know that you'll never truly be a free man again. You choose to stay and take your chances at the trial. It's your choice. But you have to make a decision now. They might come at any minute."

His head feels heavy as he tries to process of Lucifer's words. One thing doesn't make sense, though. "You want me to come with you? Why?" He glances over to the car where he can see Michael in the passenger seat. He looks pale and tired, but his eyes are sharp as he keeps his gaze lock on them. "You have Michael now. Isn't he the one you love?" He turns his bleak gaze back up to Lucifer. 

"Cassie, it's a long story. I'm sorry for what I did to you. It was unfair of me and I want to make things right." Castiel searches his face, sees the pain and guilt in his eyes. It's like staring into the eyes of the Lucifer he first met and thought he knew. His heart hurt. 

"But you don't love me. Tell me the truth," he demands. He needs to know. He can't be blind-sided again. Lucifer shakes his head and lowers his eyes. That's answer enough. It's brutal and harsh and it helps his armors slides into place. He nods and pushes himself to stand. "I'll come with you." 

Castiel starts to walk towards the car when someone grabs him by the arm and turns him around. Dean stares at him looking distraught. 

"Cas?"

"I can't go to jail, Dean." His voice is steely and blank. They frighten him. Dean flinches back like he's been hit. He feels his resolve crack, but he strengthens it. He promised himself that he would let Dean go. And he will. "Thank you, Dean. For everything. But I have to go."

"You'll be a fugitive, Cas."

"I can't go to jail, Dean," he repeats. Dean's eyes shine with understanding. He had asked him not to do anything stupid last night. Dean knows. He knows he wouldn't survive being assaulted again. He'll either commit suicide before it happens or risks losing his mind completely. "You're the best thing that has ever happened to me. But I'm asking you to forget about me. Forget that I've ever existed. Forget about this chapter in your life. Your dad is coming for you. You have a chance to live a full, normal life with your family. You deserve that."

Dean looks like he's been punched in the gut. The pain in his eyes is too much for him to bear so he clenches his jaw and takes a step back. And another step back. His eyes roam Dean's face as he commits them to memory. This will be the last time he sees Dean. The last time he's going to set eyes on those loving green eyes and freckled face. 

He wishes he could hear Dean laugh one last time and sees the crinkle at the corner of his eyes. But he can't. He takes a deep breath and turns around, heading straight to the car. His heart feels heavy. It hurts. Why does it hurts so much? He clenches his hands into fist and wills the feelings away. Will his heart to be unfeeling. By the time he reaches the car and opens the door to the back seat, he doesn't have any energy left to feel anymore. 

Lucifer slips into the driver seat, and lets go of the break, shifting the gears. He watches Dean as the car pulls out of the side walk. Watches as he stand there, devastation so visible on his face and eyes, in the stillness of his body.

When the car drives past Dean, he turns his head to look at the headrest of the seat in front of him. He doesn't look back. Doesn't stare at the rear view mirror. He just focuses right ahead and carefully stows the memories of Dean Winchester in a box at the back of his mind and locks it. The one good thing that happened to him. He throws the key away.

\---

Dean watches motionless as the car drive away. Every part of his body hurts. Castiel's last words to him ring in his mind, playing on repeat. There was nothing he could do but watches as the car pulls farther and farther away. There was nothing he could say that would justify his wanting Castiel to stay. Not when he's the one who would be leaving. What can he say?

His heart feels like it weighs an ocean as the car turns the corner and disappear from view. He takes one step forward, then another and another and before he knows it, he's running. His feet pound the graveled road as his bowlegs carry him forward. In his peripheral, he sees the neighbours at their fences staring and dogs barking. The cold wind stings his face where tears had been running silently down his cheeks. He keeps running.

When he reaches the corner, he skids to a stop and pants, his breathing haggard and rough. He arrives just in time to see the car turns into another corner. "No," he pants out, his voice breaking. In fact, his whole body feels broken. He falls to his knees and leans forward onto his palm as he gasps for air. "No... No, no no." he repeats over and over again. 

This can't be it. This can't be how it ends. His heart aches like it's trying to tear out his chest and follow. Maybe it did. Because he feels hollow inside. Empty. Castiel is gone. There's no way for Dean to know where he went, or where he can find him. No way at all to which Dean can contact him. No traces, no links. Nothing. Zip. Nada. He really is gone.

The reality of it crashes down on him and leaves him stunned on the pavement. He falls on his ass and sits there, staring at the spot where the car had disappears. Castiel wants him to forget about him. He wants to laugh but what comes out is a choke off attempt of one. Too late for that, Cas, he thinks. Way too late.

He knows he doesn't have the right to be sad, or to whine or to cry. Because he knows that this is as much his fault as the twisted turns of event. If he hadn't chose to leave, if he had stood up to his dad and decide to stay, Castiel wouldn't have opted to flee. He would have stay and face the trial. Castiel can be so brave if only he could find the strength. He needed Dean and what did he end up doing? Worse than nothing. He abandons Castiel. 

So yes, no matter how much he wants to protest Castiel leaving with Lucifer, _Lucifer_ of all people, he can't. Because he doesn't have the right to. Not only that, but it'll be selfish of him to ask him to stay and risk facing jail time when Dean wouldn't even be around. The look Castiel gives him when he admits he couldn't go to jail haunts him. Dean knows what that look means. The thought of losing Castiel indefinitely shook him to the core. So he kept his mouth shut. 

So really, it's his fault if he's feeling heartbroken right now. There's no one to blame but himself. Stupid. He wants to punch himself in the face. Why does he always fuck up? A rush of anger floods his veins. It seems like all he does is break the people around him. First, his mom. His dad. Then, Sam. And now, Castiel. He doesn't even need to do anything. Just being around him is enough. 

With a frustrated shout, he hits the pavement with his fist. A sharp pain sears up his arm, and he pulls back and hits it again. Blood stains the pavement as the skin on his knuckles tear. Blinded by rage, he keeps punching, every strike eliciting a starburst of pain. It feels good, the pain grounds him, reminds him of what a piece of shit he is. He rears his hand back, ready to throw another hit when the sound of cheering reaches him. 

He stares back at Lisa's house. Sam. He doesn't have a watch with him but he thinks it's almost 3 pm. His dad is going to be here soon. They need to be ready. His body goes into autopilot. Standing up, he wipes the blood off his hand with the inside of his jacket. It stings. The skin on his knuckles is scraped off and there are gravels inbedded in them, dark against the blood. He walks the rest of the way back in a blur. 

Lisa waves at him from the middle of the garden where the children are gathered around her. She's handing off slices of cake on paper plates. He sees Sam in front of her, making grabby hand at the plate she's holding up. She passes it to him smiling before she glances up again. He's near enough now to see Sam digging into his cake. Lisa pauses in her movement and frowns at him. 

"Hi, Lisa."

"Is everything okay?" she asks concerned. 

He nods. "Just tired," he lies. "I'm sorry to have to say but is it okay if we leave early?"

"Yeah, of course. Don't feel obligated to stay, Dean. I can imagine the crowd can be too much." She motions to the kids running around. Dean nods, using her reasoning as an excuse. 

"Thank you, Lisa." He gives her a hug before pulling back. She smiles warmly, her eyes bright and soft. "Of course. Thank you for coming, Dean." She looks around. "Where's Castiel?"

"He doesn't feel too well. He's trying to stay away from the noise," he lies as he nods towards the front of the house. "Sorry."

She shushes him. "You tell your boyfriend to take all the rest he needs," she teases. He clenches his hands into fist, pulling at the torn skin to stop himself from tearing up. 

"I will." Even to him his voice sounds off. Lisa is looking at him curiously but before she can question him more, he gives a nod and moves towards Sam. "Hey squirt!" he calls. Sam looks up and smiles at him. 

"Dean! Did you get a piece of the cake? It's apple pie flavored!" He lifts the plate up. Dean ruffles his hair with his good hand and lowers his voice. 

"We got to go, Sam."

"Oh. Is it time?" He nods. Sam's shoulders slump forward as he puts the cake aside. "Okay," he mumbles as he slips his hand into Dean's. He leads them to where he had left their backpack in the house. The clock on the wall says they still have just less than 10 minutes to go before 3 pm. Once they're at the front of the house, Sam looks around, his eyes searching. Dean dreads the question he knows is coming.

"Where's Cas? I thought he's going to say goodbye?"

"Cas... he uh. He's got to go."

"Without saying goodbye?" Sam looks like a kicked puppy, all wide sad eyes. "Why? Is he mad at us? Is he mad at me? Doesn't he loves me anymore?"

Dean is surprised that his heart could still break. Crouching down, he pulls Sam into his arms. "Hey, don't say that. You know Cas loves you. You're his best friend, remember?"

"But why did he leave without saying goodbye? Is it because of something I did? Maybe he's mad at us for leaving." Sam's body still before he pulls back, his face panicked. "Does he think we don't love him anymore? He _does_ think we don't love him anymore!" he cries answering his own question. "Ohmygod, Dean! We're like dad!"

"Sam-"

But Sam wouldn't listen. "Now Cas thinks I hate him!" he cries as tears bubble up in his eyes. He grabs Dean by the neck and bawls into his shoulder. "I don't hate him, Dean. I don't!" Sam is a bumbling mess, his words stringed together as he cries over and over. Not trusting his own voice, Dean keeps quiet and rubs his back. When Sam sobs dies down to small hiccups, he kisses the top of his head. 

"Is he going to call, Dean?" Sam asks into his neck. Dean stays silent and squeezes him tighter. "He's not going to come and find us when he turns 18, is he?" Sam whispers. Dean shakes his head. "I didn't tell him I love him, Dean." Sam buries his head deeper into his neck, muffling his voice. But Dean hears it anyway.

"He knows."

Sam pulls back, his face red and tear-streak. "Does he? How?" Dean opens his mouth to answer but finds that he can't. Sam's right. Sure, he confessed his love time and time again but what does that actually says? Everyone can just blurts out 'I love you'. It's their action that counts. And his action doesn't shows it at all. Replaying their moments together, it feels like Dean had been using him from the start. And when all is said and done, he'd thrown him aside. He feels like throwing up.

"Every time dad left, I feel sad too but at least I have you. But Cas has no one. He doesn't have a mom and dad. Or brother and sister. He's all alone." Sam stares down at his hands as he speak. "He must be so sad." Dean can't take it anymore. It feels like his body is bleeding. Every part of him hurts. He sits on the pavement and pulls Sam onto his lap, his small back against his chest. And waits. 

And waits.


	28. Chapter 28

The road ahead stretches long and endless in front of them. The changes in landscape are apparent as they leave Lawrence behind. From building blocks to vast expanses of earth that stretch for miles on either side of them. The drive to Chicago takes about 9 hours, give or take. And that is without stopping. Which they're not going to do with Michael still weak from his surgery. 

They had already stopped once to ditch their car and rent a new one. Now they're all riding in a plain white Prius, the engine almost silent in its soft hum. Except for the few exchanges he had with Michael, the journey was a quiet one. Gabriel sits rock silent at the back of the car staring out the window. He knows better than to lure him into a conversation. It's not like he knows what to say either. Better to let him stews in his own juices. He has a lot to take in.

At his side, Michael is lying with his head leaning against the window fast asleep. He doesn't snore, just deep breaths, his chest rising in tandem. It's actually a pleasant sound, calming. It reminds him that Michael is still alive. They still have time. Though, with their current situation or as a matter of fact, occupation, he shouldn't count on it. 

He turns to stare back out onto the road. They have about four more hours to drive before calling it a night. And then it's another three hours before they'll reach headquarters. Michael had insisted that they go there right away instead of heading home. It's bound to be watched. Better to rip off the bandage than beat around the bush and Naomi values honesty and being frank.

It sounds like a suicidal plan to go storming into headquarter like that. But maybe it's the unexpectedness that will help them. He hopes so. Because even if he may be able to defend himself, Michael is hurt and he doesn't think he'll leave the man behind if shit hits the fan. He glances furtively at Castiel through the rear view mirror. There's also Castiel to think about. He didn't take him off the stove to throw him into the flames. 

The boy has been quiet the entire ride, not a word out of his mouth since entering the car. Looking at him now, he feels a tingle of shiver runs down his spine. Castiel has taken on a scarily accurate replicate of Michael's neutral expression. Impassiveness blankets his features. It scares him a little. Lucifer can see how he would have familiarized himself with Castiel because of their physical resemblance. But the truth is, they were never alike. 

Castiel is warm and open whereas Michael is reserved and blunt. They're like polar opposites when it comes to personality traits. But at the moment, it doesn't seem too far fetch to picture Castiel with Michael's characteristics. Lucifer hadn't seen the shots being fired, but the dead aim and precision still chills him to the bone. For someone who had never used a gun, the fact that Castiel produced two perfect headshots are unsettling. 

It shows a person with sharp instincts. Whether they are instincts to survive or to protect remains to be seen. He wouldn't rule out protectiveness seeing as Dean and Sam were at the scene. So were Michael and him. His instinct had gotten him out of the situation alive, but it's the driving factor behind these auto responses that shows the kind of person Castiel is. One instinct is intrinsic and the other extrinsic. He hopes for the latter. With his natural born instincts, without proper guidance, Castiel has the potential to be a very dangerous man in the future. 

"Lucifer?" Castiel's rough voice startles him from his musings. He glances up at the rear view mirror, holding Castiel's intense blue gaze. "Am I going to have to sleep with strangers again?"

That feels like a slap in the face. But maybe he deserves that. "No, Cassie. You don't have to do that anymore. You don't have to sleep with anyone unless you want to." Castiel nods and turns his face back towards the window. Lucifer sighs, eyes back on the road. 

"I'm sorry, Cassie. For everything that I've put you through. I did what I thought I had to at the time. And it was selfish of me and unnecessarily cruel to you. I don't expect you to forgive me for what I've done."

Castiel is staring back at him when he chances a glance at the rear view mirror. "But I am sorry," he repeats sincerely. He knows he did a lot of wrong during his time in Lawrence. He knows he couldn't make up for it. But he can start with Castiel.

They hold eye contact in dead silence for a moment or two before Lucifer focuses back on the road. He had said what he needed to say, and the ball is in Castiel's court now. He's not going to force him to accept his apology nor give him his forgiveness. But that doesn't mean he's not going to show Castiel every day that he's sorry. 

If all goes well with their negotiation, the three of them are going to be living together. He doesn't want the atmosphere in the house to be awkward and stilted. Things are painful enough as it is with Michael; he doesn't want to have to tiptoe around Castiel too. 

"Thank you, Luci." His eyes flicker back towards Castiel's reflection in quiet surprise. Castiel is back to staring out the window, but he knows what he'd heard. A small smile settles on his face as he drives with what feels like renewed hope surfacing in his chest. 

\---

Dean is numb. The chaos around him is like something from another dimension, another reality. Nothing fazes him. Not the swirling red-blue lights, the cops running around, the children screaming and hush whispering from the neighbors. Everything dulls in comparison to the deaden feeling of his heart. The light flickers and dies. Everything feels unreal. And if Sam wasn't sitting in his lap with Dean's arms around him, holding him tight, Dean thinks he might have float away. The surrealness of it all is catching up with him, knocking him off his feet. 

Dad never showed up. 

The hours passed. Sam's face got sadder and sadder as each minute passed. It was obvious then, but Dean doesn't want to believe it. Can't accept that his dad would just abandon them again. So they waited. And waited. Dean's heart got colder and colder as he held Sam tight. Dean is a big boy, he can handle the rejection but Sam, he's just a kid. When Sam was younger, around four, when John tried to leave, Sam would cry, pulled at his jeans and begged him to stay. But as years went by, each time John left the house he paid for the month, Sam just got quieter and quieter. 

It pains Dean to see Sam like that. Huge eyes wide as he watched his dad walk out the door time and again. And there wasn't anything Dean could do about it but tried to cheer him up after. Played their favorite toy soldier game, play pretends, anything to distract themselves from the gaping hole in their life. Sam had started to see Dean more as a Dad than John ever was. He would cling to Dean when he woke up from a nightmare. Or called out his name when he was frightened by the storm.

But he's still a kid, and he needs his dad. No matter how many times John failed him, he's quick to forgive and forget if that means John would come back. Dean is the same. They need their dad. 

But Dad didn't come. 

Instead, the cops showed up and Castiel is in the wind with Lucifer and Dean is all alone. He fucked everything up. He lost someone he loved because of the choices he made, and it turned out to be the wrong one. Dad, where are you? Why aren't you here? I need you. I can't hold on anymore. Please, don't leave us.

A tear fall. Dean closes his eyes. Sam is so still in his arms, so quiet ever since the cops arrived. He hugs Sam tighter. 

"Dean Winchester?"

Dean looks up from where he's sitting on the stoop of the pavement. A short average build man, about 5'5, is standing in front of him, peering down at him with honey colored eyes. His long blonde hair is messy and ruffled around his face. He has an intelligent look about him, eyes sharp and alert, but there's also a friendliness about his face. There are smiling lines etched to the corner of his eyes and he has a long crooked nose that's slightly turned up at the end. "Yeah?"

"According to Lisa Braeden, you were here with Castiel Novak for her son's Ben birthday party?" 

"Yeah."

"Where is Novak now?"

"Gone."

"Gone where?"

"I don't know."

The man's gaze sharpen, deep and penetrative. "We have witnesses stating that you're the last person to have seen Novak."

"Maybe."

"There was also sighting of an automobile outside this house with which our suspect was seen getting into." Dean keeps quiet. The man continues unfazed even as his eyes grow more serious. "There was also a blonde man. We know his name is Lucifer Kane, and as of this moment, he's a person of interest." Dean just stares up at him. "Where is Lucifer, Dean?" he asks, voice steely, cold as ice. Dean frowns. He called Lucifer by his first name. And shouldn't he be asking about Castiel instead of Lucifer? Though, it doesn't make much of a difference. Castiel and Lucifer are together now. 

Dean shrugs. "I don't know."

The man sighs. "Are you trying to be difficult?"

"No."

The man stares at him awhile longer before announcing, "You're coming to the station with us."

That snaps Dean out of the daze he had settled in. "What? Why?"

"For aiding and abetting the escape of a murder suspect. And for not cooperating with the police. I'm sorry, kid, but you're coming with us." With that, the man grabs at Dean's arm, pulling his upward. Sam jumps off his lap just in time.

"What the fuck? What kind of cop are you? This is fucking police brutality! Get your hands off me!"

"I'm way above the cops, kid. You don't have to know who I am, just that I have the power to do basically anything and there's nothing anyone can do to stop me." Dean stares at him, eyes wide with shock. The man smirks, transforming his grave and somber face from a second ago to an impish mischievous grin. His golden colored eyes twinkles in the sunlight. "Name's Gabriel by the way," he says, holding his hand out. Dean glares at him.

"Dean? Are you in trouble?" Sam's small voice draws his attention away from the man. They both look down at Sam. He is staring up at them with wide, scared eyes. There is a defeated look about him, the cheeriness gone, his small shoulders slumped. Dean's heart aches. 

"No, Sammy. It's okay. I'm just going to help this-" Dean glances at the man "cop," he pronounces the word forcefully "with something. Don't worry, okay? I'll be fine. You just go back to the home. Find Anna. I promise everything is going to be alright."

"Nope. Sam is coming with us."

Dean snaps his head up. "What? He's got nothing to do with this! Whatever information you want, you can get it from me. Just leave Sam out of this."

"No, can't do. You're both coming to the station. Don't worry, I'm not leading you to a torture chamber. It's just going to be a few questions. And you can go." Dean stares at Gabriel suspiciously, not trusting him one bit. "Don't look at me like that! I promise. Just a few questions and we're out of your hair. It's not like you have a choice anyway." He shoves Dean towards a patrol car. "Come on." He motions for Sam to follow.

Dean climbs into the patrol car, and Sam stumbles behind soon after. Gabriel climbs into the passenger seat and mumbles something to the cop- Corbett, Dean recognises who starts driving. Dean slumps back into the seat and stares out the window. Fuck his life. 

\---

They pull up to a small motel not far from the highway. It's dark out, and Lucifer is tired, having driven 8 hours straight. The soft hum of the car dies down as Lucifer turns off the ignition. He cracks his neck, earning himself a loud pop. He moans, feeling the stiffness abates a little. Michael stiffens beside him. Glancing over, he sees the man awake and looking away, out the window. Lucifer frowns, concerned. "Are you okay?"

Michael shuffles up the seat. "Yeah. Just hate it when you do that."

Lucifer bristles. "What? The pop?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, fuck you." Lucifer pushes his door open and steps out into the cool night air. He slams the door shut. Fuck Michael. He was just being concerned, and all he can do was point out his faults. Like what the fuck? Can they be civil for one minute? 

The door at the back opens and Castiel steps out. He stares up at the night sky, lighted by thousand of glittering stars. It's a clear night. Lucifer stares as Castiel tilts his head up and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. This angle, Castiel looks a lot like Michael. The angelic face, the sharp nose, the chiseled jaws. He can feel the stirring of arousal in his guts, and he shifts his eyes away, falling instead on Michael's ice blue ones. 

The man's face is as blank as a sheet of paper but at the same times says so much except nothing in a language Lucifer understands. Michael's eyes flick to Castiel before he ambles off without a word towards the motel. Lucifer watches him go with a sinking feeling in his chest. He thought that after what they've been through and what Michael's had confessed that maybe their relationship would get better, or at least, smoother. But looking at the man's retreating back right now, it feels like a step backwards. 

\---

Dean taps his fingers against the table restlessly. He'd been in this room for over an hour now. What the hell are they taking so long for? Are they trying to make him sweat? Because they totally succeed. Literally. The room is small and sterile. The air is stale, and there's hardly any circulation inside. The heater is on, and droning noisily behind him; it's making him go nuts. His shirt is sticking to his back from how much he's sweating. 

He glares at the one-way mirror, seeing nothing but himself. He doesn't look too good. His hair is messy, hanging limply into over his forehead. There are bags under his eyes, and he looks sick. Not that he is. He just feels sick. Sick of his dad. Sick of his life. And worried sick about Castiel. Did the cops manage to locate him? Is that why Gabriel isn't in here questioning him? Dean doesn't even know if he feels relieve or upset if that's the case. 

The door pushes open, and Gabriel walks in. Dean sits up in his chair, eyes blazing, never leaving Gabriel's face. The man walks into the room, closes the door and tosses a folder onto the table between them. He nods at them. "Is that true?"

Dean frowns at him. "Is what true?"

"Look inside the files."

Dean hesitates for a second before pulling the file closer. He opens them. Inside is a stack of photos. He flips through them. They are pictures of body parts. A wrist here. A collarbone there. A thigh. They seem pretty ordinary except for the bruises coloring the skin. Rope burns. Hickeys. Handprints. Dean freezes. He knows these injuries. He suffered a few of them himself. His whole body stiffens as he proceeds to flip through the pictures, more slowly this time. The images get more explicit as he nears the end. A round ass stares at him, cheeks parted by a hand. In between, clear as day are semen leaking out his anus.

From the few pictures, Dean can tell it's a boy. The sense of dread is steadily mounting as he flips to the last picture. Two blue eyes look up at him. They're dull and lifeless. For a minute, Dean's afraid he's looking at Castiel's dead body. But the timestamp on the photo dates this picture back to a few months ago. Bruises ring his neck, the shaped of someone's hand. Dean shoves the pictures away, flinching back. 

"Was Novak abused?" Gabriel's voice pierces through his haze. Dean glares up at the man. "Were you abused?"

"Where did you get these?" Dean snaps.

"We raid Novak's room. We found his camera and notebook. It detailed what happened at the group home." Gabriel throws a few more picture down on top of the rest of them. Dean stares. His and Castiel's smiling faces are staring back at him. His heart breaks as he remembers taking those picture himself just yesterday. He moves closer, taking the photos into his hands. They look so happy. He rubs his thumb over Castiel's face. "You both seems close. So my question to you is," Gabriel leans down and over the table, staring down at Dean. "Is it true?"

Dean can't speak. All he can do is stare up into those champagne eyes and chokes. This is it. This is the moment to come clean. Finally, someone _knows_. But can Dean trust him? Would he help or would he like all the others just take advantage of his situation and kicks him while he's down? Dean doesn't know. He stares back at the pictures scattered on the table. Castiel took those photos of himself. He documented his abuse. He wanted people to know. Tears spring into his eyes. 

Gabriel leans back. "So it is true. Lucifer pimps you all out." Gabriel's voice is soft, disbelief coloring every word. Dean lifts his eyes up. Confusion clouds his mind. Is that sadness he hears in Gabriel's voice? The way he says Lucifer's name, it's like the man knew him. Dean's brow furrows as Gabriel slumps into the seat opposite him. "What happened?" he asks, seemingly to himself. Then, all a sudden he flicks his eyes up and stares right at Dean. "Tell me everything you know. Right from the very beginning. Do not leave anything out." 

Dean is tired. And exhausted. He just wants this to be over. Leaning back in the chair with the picture of them in his hands, he smiles at Gabriel. "You want to know everything? I'll tell you everything." Dean takes a deep breath and starts. "My name is Dean Winchester. And this is what happened to me for the past 3 months."

\---

Castiel sits by the window, staring out into the night sky. Lucifer is moving about the room, doing what, he doesn't care. Castiel can't find it in him to feel much at the moment. He stares outside, at the dark velvety sky, at the stars that shine down on them. He wonders if Dean is star gazing too. He lowers his eyes. There he goes again, thinking of Dean when he promises himself to forget he ever existed to begin with. 

His heart throbs painfully in his chest. Funny. He thought he was passed pain at this point. He's been through so much hurt recently; he should be numb by now. Maybe if he stops thinking...

"Cassie?" 

Castiel turns around. Lucifer is standing in the middle of the room, one hand holding onto a towel and the other his toiletries bag. He looks tired and sad. Michael had ordered two room by the time they reached the reception area. He tossed Lucifer the keys and without a word, headed to his own room. Castiel was surprised. But a look at Lucifer's face told him not to ask questions. Maybe their relationship is not how he thought it was. 

"Do you want to shower first or should I?"

"What's going on, Luci? Why aren't you with Michael? Why are we sharing a room?" Castiel asks instead. The expression on Lucifer's face shuttered and his jaws twitch. His heart thuds in his chest. The familiar fear creeps up again. Do as you're told. Don't make Lucifer angry. But instead of succumbing to the fear, he pushes on. "I deserve to know, Luci."

The dark look disappears only to be replaced by guilt. Lucifer huffs, defeatedly. "It's complicated."

"We have the time."

Lucifer looks up at Castiel. They stare at each other for a moment before Lucifer puts down his things on the bed. He takes a seat at the edge and breathes in a deep breath. Castiel leaves his perch from the window and joins Lucifer on the bed. Lucifer glances up, and Castiel moves closer. It's like old times except this time, Castiel doesn't feel all giddy and bursting with joy as their lips meet. He deepens the kiss and slowly pushes Lucifer back until the man is lying on the bed and Castiel is on top of him. Their tongues clash as Castiel tears at Lucifer's clothes and rids himself of his shirt. 

He doesn't want to think. He lets himself immerse into the pleasure of the skin and body and sex. He wants to forget. 


	29. Thank you for your support!

Hi all! Thank you again for liking and subscribing to this fanfic. It has been a pleasure to hear your thoughts and love for this ^^ And really, thank you for all your constant support and love because without it I am sure I will not be able to finish this massive load of a fic haha. It's been awhile now and I decided to publish it on tapas app. It's an app where people can read novel or comic. To reach a wider audience I've edited the fanfic ^^ You can find it here: https://tapas.io/episode/942640 If you like the fic and would love to show your support, please do subscribe and/or comment on it on tapas. It will really support me as a writer. 

Alos, because of the triggering content in the fic, I rated it mature. Lol I don't want to shock or trigger anyone. So please do heed the warning etc. If you like it, enjoy but if it's not your cup of tea, stay away. Don't send me hate because you read it and it triggers you >..< Maybe it wasn't any good anymore after the first one. I might start a whole new fic in the future :)

Again, thank you all for the support and if you have the time, do support me on tapas! Your help is highly appreciated! ^^

Here's how it looks like on tapas!^^  
  
  



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